


Pariah's Descent Into Avernus

by CyrusJ



Category: Descent Into Avernus - Fandom, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Warlock Pacts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 102,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26407243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyrusJ/pseuds/CyrusJ
Summary: In the grim and shadowy streets of Baldur's Gate, four strangers come together to seek vengeance on a predatory priest. Little do they realize that this act will trigger a series of events that will take them into the Nine Hells, where they must navigate the front lines of the Blood War and the cruel machinations of the archdevils in an effort to save thousands of souls, including their own.This fic is based on the D&D 5e adventure, "Baldur's Gate: Descent into Avernus". There will, of course, be lots of spoilers about the module.Even if you aren't familiar with D&D, this fic should be approachable as a general fantasy story.
Comments: 74
Kudos: 4





	1. A Chance Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Within the walls of Baldur's Gate  
>  A creature hunts its prey.  
>  Two gathered by the hand of Fate  
>  Make plans the beast to slay.**
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Indirect reference to sexual assault. It's not going to be a major plot point going forward, but there will be a few scenes as the characters deal with their emotions.

The door to the priest's chamber flew open and a woman stormed out. She walked quickly through the temple of Tymora, her head turned to the side, trying to hide the tears. She stepped out into the bright daylight. Her pale skin was red with shame and as she looked around she felt like everyone was staring at her. Of course, perhaps they were. She wasn't a common sight. At a glance she seemed human, though a very pale one, but it didn't take a sharp eye to see the four-foot tail that lashed about angrily. Nor was it hard to miss the two horns that jutted out from her forehead, curving back over her short, dark blue Mohawk. One of the horns bore a deep but old gash at the base that went nearly halfway through. A closer look at her face would reveal that her eyes were solid black orbs with no visible sclera or iris, and her canines were a bit longer and more pointed than human. A few might even know her kind were called tieflings.

Head down, she continued to walk quickly, looking for a place to get out of sight. She was clad from neck to toe in ragged clothes, leaving not an inch of skin bare below her neck. The rapier at her side was noticeably better quality than her clothing. She didn't even have it in a sheath. It was just jammed loosely in her belt, swinging about clumsily.

She ducked into an alley and was relieved to see it was empty. She settled back against the wall, and the tears flowed a bit more freely now. "I can't do it," she said softly as she sunk to the ground.

In her head a voice said simply, "We have an agreement." She shivered. It was one thing to call a voice cold, but this one was quite literally cold, and she felt ice in her veins when he spoke.

"I know," she said sharply, then looked around to see if anyone had heard. More quietly she said, "But I can't. I'm not strong enough. You saw...what happened."

"We have an agreement," he repeated. There was no anger, just a simple statement.

"Fine," she hissed angrily. "Then take back the power. I don't care."

"The power was not our deal," he reminded her. "You asked for protection. I gave it. If you back out, they will pay the consequences."

Her stomach dropped. She hadn't considered that. "But I can't. What do you expect me to do?"

"Live up to our bargain."

"Asshole," she said through gritted teeth.

"Yes, he is," came a woman's voice. The tiefling started and turned, seeing a human woman silhouetted in the alleyway entrance. The woman came closer and the tiefling could see her features: dusky skin, green eyes and long, wheat blonde hair. She wore the vestments of one of the acolytes from the temple, one sleeve hanging slack because her left arm ended above the elbow.

"Leave me alone," the tiefling growled at her, turning away.

The woman sat down on the dirty ground next to her. The tiefling ground her teeth but before she could speak, the human woman said, "I've seen many women leave his office with that look of confusion and shame." She paused. "I myself have borne the same expression more than once."

The tiefling turned the study the woman. The acolyte wasn't looking at her, instead staring blankly at the wall in front of her. Needing a target for her anger, the tiefling snarled, "And your bitch goddess just lets it happen?"

The acolyte's demeanor changed. She turned to the tiefling, her green eyes flashing. "Watch your tone! Do not blame the Lady for his actions. The gods rarely dally directly in the affairs of mortals. We must solve our own problems, helped by the grace of the gods." The two women glared at each other, and the acolyte finally took a breath and calmed herself. "Unfortunately, he is not a problem that is easy to solve." She turned away again. "He has great political power. The few women who have lodged complaints have disappeared. The rest of us simply endure."

The tiefling wanted to say it was unfair, but she had grown up in the Outer City. Fair was something that happened to rich people. The filth like her counted themselves blessed for each day they didn't starve.

The women sat silently for a bit and then the acolyte said, "You are called Mouse, right? Leader of the Forgotten?"

The tiefling studied her for a moment. The woman didn't seem familiar. "You know me?"

The human shook her head. "Not directly, but I've heard of you. I often minister in the Outer City, though not usually at the Twin Songs shrine. You and your crew have quite a good reputation. Plus," she added lightly, "you do stand out in a crowd."

She obviously meant no offense by the remark. "I suppose so," said the tiefling, but her gloom deepened as she thought about that name. Nobody had called her anything at all for days and now, well, that name didn't fit. It was the name of a past life. "But I'm not a member of that crew anymore," she said gravely, "and I don't use that name."

"Oh? What do you call yourself?"

She went blank. She had been struggling with recent events. It wasn't until this moment that she had considered abandoning her name, and she wasn't sure she could come up with a new one on the spur of the moment. And then she suddenly knew what to call herself. It was a word she heard in a sermon long ago. She had liked the sound of it, the feel of it. It had resonated with her at the time, and now it fit her more than ever. "Pariah," she said.

The acolyte's friendly smile faded. "What a sad name to choose for yourself. Especially..." She trailed off and reached across herself with her good arm to pat Pariah's hand. "Well, my name is Rowan."

Pariah was getting impatient. "OK, fine, we know each other's names. What do you want?" It came out sharper than she had intended, but she wasn't in the mood for conversation.

Rowan's brow furrowed. "I don't know," she admitted. "I had thought to offer you some words of comfort but now I realize how empty that would be. I guess...I guess I don't know why I came after you."

She didn't get up to leave, and Pariah realized she didn't mind her being there. She reminded herself that her anger was not directed at the woman sitting in the dirt next to her. They went back to staring at the facing wall for a bit, until Pariah said, "How can you stay in that temple?"

Rowan sighed heavily. "I have meditated and prayed on that very question. It's not a dilemma I can discuss with the other priests. I could transfer to another temple but my life is here, my roots. And," her tone hardened," I haven't done anything wrong. I shouldn't be the one who has to leave."

Pariah was silent for a bit, gathering her thoughts. She didn't want to repeat her earlier thoughtless comment. "I have to ask: why does Tymora allow this to happen in her own temple?"

The acolyte pursed her lips and it was several seconds before she answered. "One of the Lady's tenets is, 'Fortune favors the bold.' She expects her worshipers to take action and trust in her to bless them with good luck." She shook her head, "But I don't know what I can do about this, even with the Lady's fortune on my side."

Pariah wrestled with her next comment, but her own pain won out. Trying to keep her voice level, she said, "The solution is obvious. We have to kill him."

She expected Rowan to be angry or at least surprised, but instead the woman nodded gloomily. "I have considered that. Perhaps that is exactly the action the Lady expects someone to take. But he is not just politically influential. For some reason, she blesses him with her divine power. He would be a difficult opponent."

"I know," Pariah said bitterly. Rowan gave her a questioning look. The tiefling paused, unsure if this was the time to be honest, but pushed forward. "I wasn't in his chambers to have a chat with him," she said simply.

Rowan took a moment to process this new information. "Oh," she said in a small voice, glancing down at the rapier the tiefling bore. "I had no idea. I didn't hear any struggle."

Pariah felt her emotions welling up again. She tried to keep her voice strong. "There was no struggle. I tried to draw my sword, but I'm not used to it. It didn't clear my belt. He waved his hand and I couldn't move. And then..." Her throat closed and she couldn't speak.

The other woman nodded sadly. "Yes, I know the 'and then' part."

The tiefling took a moment to compose herself. "When he was done, he slipped the sword back in my belt, blessed me with a friendly smile, and than asked me to leave. I felt the spell release and I just...left. Like a coward."

Rowan again reached over with her good arm and squeezed Pariah's hand. "No, not like a coward. If you had stayed, he might have killed you or had you arrested. Or even satisfied himself again, though I doubt the old lecher can get it up twice."

Pariah laughed bitterly. "Yeah, I guess not," she said as her eyes grew wet. "Lucky me."

They were silent for a while. Pariah kept thinking of the people she needed to protect, and the task she had to do. "Maybe the two of us together could manage it," she said.

Rowan's brow furrowed as she mulled it over. "No," she said, and Pariah's heart sank. "I don't think we are strong enough. We will need more."

Pariah's heart stopped sinking and froze. "More?" she asked hesitantly.

Rowan nodded with determination. "Yes. More. People who can fight. I know or suspect of dozens of his victims. I would think I could raise an army. Together, we can bring him down."

"Dozens?" Pariah said in horror. "Gods. "

"I'll ask around. It will take time. I'll have to be careful. I can't just openly advertise for a murder."

Pariah had to ask. "And you're okay with this? Striking at one of your own?"

"Yes," she said emphatically. "I believe this must be Tymora's will. I actually wasn't supposed to be in the temple today, but one of the other acolytes got sick and I took his place. What blessed fortune it was for me to be there, for me to follow you out here, and for us to have this conversation." A light burned in her eyes. "Tymora favors the bold, and we will be bold. We will root out this disease and cleanse her temple of it. This must be what she wants." She mumbled, "It must be."

The tiefling was a bit put off by her fervor but asked, "When do you think we can do this?"

Rowan thought for a moment. "It might take me two or three weeks to make careful inquiries."

That wasn't going to work. Pariah said, "How long do I have left?"

"What?" Rowan asked, but she wasn't who the tiefling was talking to.

"Nine days," said the icy voice in her head.

"Talona's tits," she mumbled. To Rowan she said, "We have to do this within nine days."

"Why?"

Pariah sputtered a bit. "It's complicated. But he has to be dead within nine days."

Rowan furrowed her brows but said, "All right. Hmm, nine days. I'll see how many inquiries I can make in that time. Did you say you don't run with the Forgotten anymore? What crew are you with?"

Pariah felt herself blushing. "No crew right now. I'm kind of at loose ends."

The acolyte looked like she wanted to ask more but decided against it. "How can I reach you?"

That stymied the tiefling for a bit. She couldn't keep coming back to the temple; the gate tolls would wipe her out. "How about just outside the Basilisk Gate? I could wait there around sunset every day and look for you."

Rowan nodded. "Yes," she said slowly. "I guess that would work. I'll let you know when I've found others and when we can meet to talk about the plan." She stood and Pariah followed suit. Rowan looked her over and reached down to her belt. She handed over a pouch of coins.

Pariah stepped back. "I don't need your charity," she said.

Rowan didn't withdraw the pouch. "Go to Danthelon's. Buy yourself some armor. And a scabbard for that," she nodded at the rapier. "And anything else you think you might need." Pariah didn't move. "You can pay me back if you like," Rowan said impatiently. "This is not going to be an easy fight. We need every advantage."

The tiefling grudgingly had to admit she was right and reached out for the money. She opened the pouch and saw not a small amount of gold. "What makes you think I won't just take this and run?"

Rowan shrugged. "I told you. I know your reputation. The worst thing you'd do would be spend it on food for your crew. Or some other crew." She added sternly, "But don't do that. Seriously, if you die in the fight you can't help anyone."

Pariah nodded. "All right." She started secreting the coins in various spots in her clothing. Only a fool carried a bulging pouch of money into the Outer City. "Then I'll see you at the Basilisk Gate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to say too much at this point. I'll talk about the characters once we've met them in the next chapter. I'm posting two chapters today to give a good start, and from now on I'll post a new chapter each week. As of this post, I'm working on Chapter 15 so I have a good buffer to maintain a posting schedule even if Real Life happens.
> 
> This is sort of a playthrough fic. Since I'm acting as both DM and players it's hard for me to act like I don't know what's coming. I play out combats on Roll20, and am fair-ish about it. I roll skill checks...except when I don't. In the end, I choose story over fair play. That works both for and against the characters. I'm always willing to fudge a roll, or just ignore something entirely if I don't like it.
> 
> I suppose I should note that I don't actually play tabletop RPGs. I just buy rules to read them and mess with them. My background is in computer RPGs, and they are very different. Computer RPGs are much more mechanics focused, and players have less freedom of action. Watching streams like "Critical Role" and "Dice, Camera, Action" has given me an appreciation for players who think of creative ways to approach situations, so I'm trying to do that here rather than just grinding enemies like an MMO.
> 
> In addition to the core 5e books, I've used a ton of other resources while writing this story. I'll try to remember to come back and list them here as I find new ones.
>
>> Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide  
> Encounters In Avernus  
> [Roll20](https://roll20.net/)  
> [Forgotten Realms Wiki](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/)  
> [NPC Generator](http://www.npcgenerator.com/)  
> [Life Story Generator](https://jsigvard.com/dnd/life.html)  
> [Random Town Generator](https://www.kassoon.com/dnd/town-generator/)  
> [Elven Name Generator](http://www.angelfire.com/rpg2/vortexshadow/names.html)  
> [Fantasy Name Generators](https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/)  
> [Pathfinder Name Generator](https://www.dungeonetics.com/pfnames/keleshite.html) [for Calishite names]  
> [Random Book Generator](http://dndspeak.com/2019/06/random-book-generator/)  
> [Descent Into Avernus: The Alexandrian Remix](https://thealexandrian.net/wordpress/44214/roleplaying-games/remixing-avernus)  
>   
> [My Homebrew Rules used in this story](https://homebrewery.naturalcrit.com/share/Jbc9626XsuG3)  
> 


	2. A Brutal Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Two more enlist and now conspire  
>  To bring the monster down.  
>  With weapons sharp and magic dire  
>  Death comes to Baldur town.**
> 
> * * *

Eight days later, Pariah made her way through the streets of Heapside in the Inner City, following the instructions Rowan had given her when they had met the previous day. She wasn't that familiar with this area since she didn't get inside the walls much, but everyone knew about the Blushing Mermaid. It was supposed to be the worst, most violent tavern on the Sword Coast. Pariah was ready. She knew how to carry herself in a crowd like that, how not to seem like prey. The rapier at her side, now in a new sheath, would help deflect attention as well. Finally, she had taken Rowan's advice and over her ratty clothing she wore several pieces of leather: a cuirass, bracers, greaves and boots. She hoped it was enough. She had tried a more complete set but it felt too bulky. Danthelon, the owner of the shop, had assured her it just took some getting used to but she decided to go with something that let her move. She also had a small axe on her other hip, a dagger at her back, and another in her boot.

She had been practicing with the rapier. She knew she was still clumsy with it, after all she'd had it less than a month, but she felt more sure than she had before. The point was sharp and that's what mattered. She hoped she got the chance to bury it in his heart.

Rowan was waiting for her outside the tavern. She looked a bit nervous but smiled when she saw Pariah. "Oh, good, you're here. We can begin. The other women are waiting inside." The acolyte pulled her through the tavern entrance and into a wall of noise. The place was boisterous and loud. There was a reception desk but what caught Pariah's eye was the large wooden mermaid hanging over it, or more specifically the mummified hands nailed to it. Before she could wonder what the story behind that was, Rowan led her into the back through a maze of narrow hallways and finally to a door that led into a small room.

Two people sat at a table. One was a human with brown skin and short brown hair in a simple cut. She sat rod straight, perched on the edge of the chair as though she was afraid to touch anything. Her features and clothing were Calishite, and her expression was aloof and cold.

The other figure at the table was an elf, and from the copper skin obviously a wood elf. The androgynous nature of elves often made it difficult to determine their genders, but Pariah got a strong sense of femininity from the elf's dress and bearing. This, plus the fact that Rowan had referred to "the other women", led Pariah to assume she was female. Her bright eyes were golden and smiling, and her black hair was much longer than the first woman's, tied in an elaborate braid, and she had a flower over one ear. She immediately gave Pariah a warm and welcoming smile.

"Now we're all here," Rowan said, motioning Pariah to one of the two empty chairs at the table.

The tiefling hesitated. "This is your army?" she said. She had been expecting six to eight people.

"Yes," Rowan said apologetically. "I had to be very careful who I spoke to, and had to approach the subject delicately. Combined with the short time frame, I'm afraid this was all I could manage. They are quite capable, however."

Pariah wondered about that. Neither of the new women wore armor, and the elf didn't even have a weapon. In a higher class tavern, Pariah would have assumed she was a dancer. The standoffish woman had a carved staff, so was probably a spellcaster. Rowan herself was wearing armor of leather and chainmail but she had only a dagger on her belt. As an acolyte she would have some divine magic, but Pariah wasn't sure it was the kind of combat magic they would need.

She started to say something, but then realized it didn't matter. It had to be tonight, one way or another. If this was all the help there was then she just had to pray for Tymora to grant them good fortune. A lot of good fortune. But she would have felt better if there had been just one obvious soldier in the group.

"I'm Lythienne," said the elf. "I'm so pleased to meet you..." She trailed off expectantly.

"Pariah," said the tiefling. She looked over at the other woman.

"My name is Farima yr Sameen el Zahra yi Almraiven," she said in a matter-of-fact voice with a distinct Calishite accent. She gave Pariah a look of disapproval though it wasn't clear if that was actually directed at the tiefling, the tavern or the situation in general.

Rowan said, "I'm afraid we don't have much time. I need to get back to the temple before he leaves for the evening. You know the first part of the plan already, but let me repeat it. I will use magic to disguise myself as a beautiful young girl. I will go to the temple and ask the priest to walk me home, saying I am afraid to walk alone at night. He won't want to miss such an opportunity. I will lead him to an abandoned building -- Lythienne has found us a good place. You three will be waiting inside. I will say I am afraid of the dark and ask him to come in while I light the lantern. Pariah and Lythienne, you two can see in the dark, correct? You can attack as soon as he comes in. Farima will create a light, and she and I will join the fight. With the four of us, he shouldn't have a chance."

Lythienne asked, "What if he won't go with you? For that matter, what if he goes but decides he doesn't want to wait until you get home? What if he just drags you into an alley?"

Rowan looked nervous. "We'll just have to hope that, by Tymora's grace, that won't happen. Look, there's no way the four of us can all go. He'll spot one of you."

"I could follow," said the elf. "Stay out of sight."

"If he does attack, I don't think two of us will be enough. Plus, you all need to already be in the building. Believe me, I'm not as happy about this plan as I'd like, but it's the best we can do."

The group exchanged looks, but it seemed nobody else had any better ideas.

"Then if there are no objections..." Rowan waited but nobody spoke. "Then one more thing." She reached into her collar and pulled out an elaborate coin on a chain, the symbol of Tymora, Lady of Luck. "Let us pray."

Pariah closed her eyes and folded her hands. It was pretty rare to find any Faithless in the Outer City, and she had dropped a few coppers in various shrines in Twin Songs. She was willing to ask for help from any of the gods, but she had always tended to gravitate to Tymora, which is why she had been so horrified when the voice asked the price it did. Of course, that was the point, wasn't it? The horror.

"Fortune favors the bold," Rowan said, her voice a little dull like she was reciting a rote prayer. "We place ourselves in the hands of fate and humbly as you to bless our endeavor. Amen."

There was a mumbling of amens from the others, but then another voice spoke. It was Farima. "Tyr the Just, we pray for your favor as well," she said, her tone ringing with more emotion than Rowan's had. "Tonight, we do not seek death, we do not seek revenge; we seek justice. Justice that the authorities will not give. This man has not just wronged us, he has broken his oath to his god, and his obligations to his followers. Let us be your hammer, bringing your judgment to this evildoer. Amen."

There was a pause in the group, but muttered amens after that.

"And anyone else out there listening," said Lythienne, "we'll be glad to take your help, too."

Pariah opened her eyes. Lythienne was grinning, a twinkle in her eye. "Be careful," the tiefling warned her. "When you put out a general call for help like that, you never know what will answer."

The elf shrugged. "I'll take whatever I can get." Pariah just shook her head and didn't bother to respond.

"Then let's get started," said Rowan. "You three get to the ambush site and lay in wait. I should be along with him in short order."

Lythienne stood, and Pariah was a bit surprised at how tall she was. She was the tallest of the four women, and a positive giant for an elf. She was slim and lithe, moving gracefully as she came around the table. Once outside, she led the way through the streets of the Lower City while Pariah and Farima followed behind, and Rowan headed off in another direction. Farima didn't seem to be much of a talker and Pariah was lost in her own thoughts. She was dreading what was about to happen. Her hands weren't clean, violence was not a stranger to her, but this was different. This was deliberate murder. And it was more. She knew that she wouldn't be the same person after tonight.

She wondered about the others. They all seemed well off, not rich but comfortable. She didn't mind that -- she never saw the point in hating people with money -- but she wondered what kind of pampered lives they had led. Were they ready for this? Would they freeze in combat? Would they hesitate to do what needed to be done?

"Are you from around here?" said Lythienne. It took Pariah a moment to realize the question was directed at her.

"Baldur's Gate? Yeah. I grew up in the Outer City, mostly around Wyrm's Crossing." Then, to be polite, she added, "You?"

"I came here several years ago. To seek my fortune, I guess. There are far more performance venues her than in the forests I was living in."

"Performance venues?" Pariah asked in confusion.

"Yes, I'm a dancer and a storyteller."

Pariah and Farima exchanged glances behind the elf's head, though she didn't seem to notice. "What about you, Farima?" Lythienne asked.

"I had a vision that led me to Baldur's Gate, though I know not why." She frowned. "I will be pleased to put this distasteful incident behind me so I can get back to following my destiny."

"You aren't from Little Calimshan?" Pariah asked in surprise. She just assumed the woman came from that Outer City enclave.

"No," she said. "I traveled here from Almraiven, though I have quarters in Little Calimshan while I am in this city."

Pariah hadn't heard of Almraiven was, nor did she even know if it was a city, country or something else. "Are you a spellcaster?" she asked, nodding at Farima's staff.

"Yes, though perhaps not the kind you are familiar with. I am able to control magical energies naturally rather than through study and ritualized spells. I do not know why, however, and that is one of the answers I seek here."

"And you?" Pariah asked Lythienne.

The elf looked confused. "Me what?"

"Are you a spellcaster? I don't see any weapons."

"No, no spells. And I don't use weapons. I am a student of the art of unarmed combat."

Pariah's brow furrowed. "You mean like a boxer?" The slender woman didn't look like any bare-knuckle boxer she'd ever seen.

Lythienne laughed brightly. "No, not quite. But I can handle myself."

Pariah was skeptical. Farima might be useful, but it looked like the dancer would be nothing more than a distraction. And the acolyte, well, she was hard to judge. Pariah was still unsure she'd be willing to strike against a priest of her temple. If all she had was that dagger, then she might not be much help either. This had the potential to be a disaster.

It didn't matter, she reminded herself. One way or another, that man had to die. Pariah would strike at him with her last breath, and she could only hope that the others felt the same.

Lythienne led them through the city, and she had a story for every building they passed. Pariah had no idea if it the stories were true, but had to admit the woman was entertaining. Eventually, they arrived at their target, a dark and unassuming building with no markings.

The elf said, "This was the hideout for the Grey Lily Association, an up and coming gang in the area." Sensing the others' hesitation, she emphasized, " _Was_ the hideout. They got a little too ambitious, drew the attention of the Blood Ravens, and that's not something you want to happen. They weren't all wiped out, but enough of them got killed that the others scattered. This place has been abandoned for at least three months now."

She opened the door and led them inside. Farima held out her staff and the tip lit up, illuminating the room. The place definitely looked abandoned. Anything of value had been taken long ago, leaving some furniture too rotted to be worth hauling out and a few piles of debris. The footing would be tricky so they'd have to be careful, but that could work to their advantage.

"Where do you want to set up?" she asked Farima.

The Calishite was giving the area a critical eye. "There," she pointed. "The post will give me cover from his magic."

"Not much," the tiefling warned. "Maybe crouch behind there instead?" she pointed to the remains of a sofa that would provide better protection.

Farima shook her head. "I can heal with a touch so I need to be able to move to the rest of you quickly. There is too much debris blocking my path there. Standing behind the post would give me more freedom."

Pariah nodded. "All right, then I'll set up here," she pointed to one side of the door. "I have some magic as well and I don't want us to get in a crossfire. Plus I'm close enough to use my blade."

"Then I'll wait on the other side," said Lythienne. "He comes in, I'll move first while it's still dark. I'll shove him away from the door towards you," she nodded at Pariah, "so he can't escape, and you can stab him with your sword."

"And then I will light my staff again," said Farima. "Rowan can back off and we can engage him from range."

Pariah wished they had more of a plan, but they'd just have to make do. One way or another, that priest was not walking out alive. "You probably better douse that light," she said.

Farima nodded and they were plunged back into darkness. They settled in to wait.

The longer they waited, the more nervous they all got. Well, Pariah and Lythienne did anyhow. Farima seemed content to wait as long as necessary. Finally, however, Lythienne whispered she could hear someone approaching.

"Thank you," came a woman's voice, growing closer. "These streets can be so scary sometimes. I feel so much better having someone to protect me."

"Of course, my child," said a man. Pariah ground her teeth at the sound of that voice. She drew her rapier.

She heard someone fumbling at the door. "Could you come inside? At least until I find the lamp? And maybe I could offer you a glass of wine for your trouble."

"That sounds delightful." Pariah could hear the leer in his voice.

The door opened and a young girl stepped in. She didn't look to the side as she said, "The lamp is back here. I guess I should move it closer to the door, but I keep forgetting to do that when it's light." She moved slowly into the room, arms out in the darkness. However, Pariah could see her just fine, just as she could see the middle-aged half-elf who followed her.

The man stopped, peering in Farima's direction. Pariah heard an intake of breath. "Ruffians!" he cried. "You _dare_ ambush a priest of Tymora! Pay for your heresy!"

Lythienne darted forward and shoved him out of the doorway towards Pariah, and Pariah met him with the point of her blade, which sunk into his side. Suddenly the room was bathed in a glow as Farima's staff burst into life.

The priest looked around him. He laughed. "You? You whores think you can defy me! I'll use you all and then sell you to slavers for this outrage." His eyes fell on Rowan, her illusionary disguise gone. His face twisted into rage. "Acolyte! How dare you strike against one of the Lady's faithful?"

"Faithful?" she spat. "Lady Luck is fighting on _my_ side tonight!" A bolt of radiant energy shot from her fingers and exploded in his chest.

The priest was staggered but muttered a prayer, something dark, nothing like any prayer to Tymora that Pariah had ever heard. A cloud of cackling shadows swirled around him.. The room was buffeted by winds as this swarms of spectral creatures flew about and engulfed the four women. Pariah felt them flying through her, pulling energy out of her. She resisted but the others seemed to have less success. Lythienne was overwhelmed and collapsed to the floor. Farima and Rowan struggled as the dark cloud pulled life from their bodies, but they grimly held their feet. As Pariah stabbed at him, both of the other women managed to get off spells. Bolts of energy hammered into the priest, knocking him to his knees. He moaned, "I'll kill you bitches," and fell face first onto the wooden floor.

The dark cloud dissipated as the priest fell, taking the shrieking figures with it, though Pariah still felt weak from the spell's effect. "Help her!" Pariah barked, her sword pointed at the still body of the priest. The other two were already moving. Farima knelt down next to Lythienne and laid a hand on her body. She closed her eyes and her hand started to glow softly. After a moment, the elf moaned and the three other women let out sighs of relief.

The other two helped Lythienne sit up, though they were all still shaking with fatigue from whatever that spell had done to them. She saw the body of the priest and said, "Damn, I wanted to see him go down."

"What was that spell?" Rowan asked. "That was no blessing from Tymora."

"He's still breathing," Farima said gravely.

Pariah had been watching the others but now she looked down. Farima was right. The man's chest was slowly rising and falling. "Not for long," she said, and plunged the sword into his back. Then she did it again for good measure. She looked again, and he was still. "It's done."

"No," said the dark voice in her head. "It is not."

She knew what she had promised him. And if anyone deserved it, this man did. But it was very different to be standing over him, knowing what was about to happen.

"Do it now," the voice said.

"In a minute," she said, trying to keep her voice low.

"What?" asked Lythienne, her sharp elven ears hearing Pariah's whisper.

"No," said the voice. "You must do it now! Before he escapes. Or they will die."

She didn't want the other women to see this. She didn't want them to know what she was, what she was going to do, but she had no choice. She hoped she could at least do it in Infernal, the language spoken by the inhabitants of the Nine Hells. He claimed to not understand her when she spoke Infernal, saying her accent was terrible. In reality, she knew he just enjoyed her discomfort at having to speak to him aloud in the hearing of others. Regardless, she had to try to hide what she was about to do.

Pariah knelt down next to the priest. She reached out her hand and in the dark tongue of the devils she said, "I claim the soul of this man in the name of Levistus, Lord of Betrayers, Duke of the Fifth Circle of Hell." She laid her hand on his back and dark energy surrounded her fingers. It reached into him and latched onto something. She felt it move into her and through her. She flung herself back against the wall, trying to get away from the sickening feeling, and it faded.

"Done!" she snarled.

"Then our business is complete," the voice said, and Pariah shivered. "You have been a good servant. Perhaps I will call upon you again."

Pariah didn't bother to answer. She angrily wiped tears away and looked up. She realized that the other three women were standing over her, varying expressions of concern on their faces.

"What did you just do?" Farima demanded angrily. "What kind of dark magic was that?"

Pariah thought quickly. "It stops him from being raised. We don't want him brought back."

Farima's eyes narrowed, but Rowan stepped in quickly. "And I think we all agree we don't want that, right? What's done is done, and now we need to go our separate ways. We must never meet or speak of this again."

Pariah flipped the man over. "What are you doing now?" asked Farima with suspicion.

"I'm taking his stuff."

"You would rob the dead?"

Pariah looked at her in contempt. "We just murdered him. You are squeamish about robbing him? Fine, more for me." She rifled his pockets. He had a fine dagger hidden up one sleeve, a decent size pouch of gold, and a very nice ring. In another pocket she found a medallion. It was cheap metal, not worth much, but she was surprised by what she saw on it: a black hand. She tossed it on the floor at the feet of the other three women.

Rowan gasped as she saw it. "Bane?" Her voice grew angry. "You served _Bane_ , you pile of shit?" She kicked the corpse in the face. "You dare defile Lady Tymora's temple with that monster's worship?" She kicked him again.

"Okay, okay," Lythienne said gently, putting her hand on Rowan's arm. "I think he's dead." Rowan was shaking with anger but she let herself be pulled away from him.

Pariah had finished searching him. "OK, you want to split this up?"

The woman all looked less than enthusiastic. "No," said Farima, a look of contempt on her face.

"I...couldn't," said Rowan, still confused by the revelation of the priest's true allegiance.

"I owe you that money," Pariah replied.

"No, you don't. I told you, that was a gift. Just take it." She was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Why don't you keep it," said Lythienne. "I don't really want any keepsakes."

Pariah shrugged. "Fine, but don't come to me later."

"We won't be," said Rowan. "I meant what I said. We need to go our separate ways. Nobody can suspect this conspiracy. Let's just go now and do our best to forget this happened."

Pariah stood, having finished stuffing the loot into various pockets. Farima doused her light and the women exited into the street, closing the door behind them. Likely nobody would find the body until someone investigated the smell in a few days.

The women exchanged a silent glance and then turned away from each other and melted into the nighttime streets of Baldur's Gate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As may be obvious, Pariah is a warlock, though she has a lot of homebrew to better fit her patron and bloodline. A few examples:
> 
>   * She gets Ray of Frost automatically, and all Eldritch Blast invocations apply to Ray of Frost instead
>   * Dark One's Blessing affects only kills with her rapier, even before it becomes a true pact weapon
>   * She can cast Compelled Duel without using a spell slot once per short rest (or possibly at will, I keep changing my mind)
>   * She gets a different set of patron spells that are cold or necrotic based instead of fire based.
> 

> 
> She also gets warlock boosts from "Rick's Guide to Fun". She will take a couple of fighter levels to complement the class. Are my changes balanced? I have no idea. It's all for the benefit of the story, not meant to be a playable homebrew.
> 
> Rowan is a trickery cleric. Lythienne is a monk who will take a couple of bard levels just for RP. Farima is a divine soul sorcerer who also gets boosts from "Rick's Guide to Fun".
> 
> Why all female PCs? I like writing badass women.
> 
> These first two chapters describe the Dark Secret that all DIA PCs are supposed to share. Next chapter will start with their encounter with Captain Zodge.
> 
> Pariah was created before I had heard of this module. She was a character in search of a story when I found DIA and realized she was perfect for it. Her patron can act as a railroad, leading the party through the story because he has a vested interest in guiding them to a certain outcome. I then created the rest of the party. Originally there were six, but that was hard to juggle so I ditched the fighter and the ranger because they were the least interesting. Of course that leaves them without a heavy hitter, but I can tweak battles as needed to give an appropriate challenge.


	3. A Compromising Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Murder? Justice? Who can say?  
>  A secret they must hide.  
>  But when exposed one must display  
>  The darkness hid inside.**
> 
> * * *

Pariah bristled as the guards marched her down the Coast Way through Stonyeyes. Six Flaming Fist soldiers had shown up at the flophouse and announced that Captain Zodge wanted to speak with her. When she asked if she was under arrest, the man in charge said ominously, "Would you like to be?"

They hadn't taken her weapon; in fact they had told her to arm and armor herself. However, they surrounded her as they walked, making it clear she was going with them one way or another. She was short so had trouble seeing around the hulking soldier in front of her. The mercenaries pushed their way through the crowd of refugees, yelling at them to clear a path and striking anyone who didn't move fast enough with their billy clubs.

The refugees had started streaming in from the east a few days ago, remnants of Elturel, the capital of the nearby nation of Elturgard. The rumors were flying but one story was consistent: the city was gone. Not lost, not conquered, not burned. Gone, with nothing but a crater where it once stood.

According to the rumors, Ulder Ravengard, Grand Duke of the Flaming Fist, had been visiting the city at the time. The mercenary band seemed to be struggling with the loss of their leader, and compensated by getting meaner and more violent. It was clear they had lost control, and as the refugee tide rose they ordered the city sealed, the gates closed. Not only were no refugees coming in but apparently nobody in the city was leaving. She had no idea if the other gates were open, but the area along Coast Way had become even more of a crowded slum than before.

"Squad coming in," bellowed the leader as they approached the Basilisk Gate. Pariah looked past him and saw a small door in the gate open up. The Flaming Fist soldiers pushed the people back as they surged towards the opening, clubbing anyone who didn't take the hint. The squad hustled her through the opening and she heard it shut behind her.

The noise of the crowd outside was less with the door closed, but she heard raised voices ahead. She saw a group of commoners facing a line of soldiers. One of the commoners was yelling at a tall soldier with long black hair and an eye patch, demanding to be let out of the city. The man with the eye patch wore the insignia of a captain, and was yelling back, telling the commoner to stand down. The commoner shoved him and chaos broke out. The soldiers surged forward into the mob of commoners, punching anyone who didn't move off. The captain waded in with them. The squad commander by Pariah barked at one of his men, "Watch her!" and the rest of them moved off to join the melee.

Pariah looked for her opportunity to slip away, hoping the lone soldier would watch the fight. Instead he watched her, his spear at the ready. She raised an eyebrow. "Five gold to look the other way?"

His sneered and leaned down to put his face near hers. His breath stank as he said, "I could just take your whole purse and then beat you for trying to escape." He grimaced. "But the captain wants to see you. Count yourself lucky, filth."

She patiently waited out the fight, which was brief. A number of commoners were on the ground, hopefully just unconscious. The guards relieved them of their gold and anything else valuable, laughing as they did so. She saw the squad leader talking to the captain and pointing to her. The captain looked over, said something to the soldier, and walked into the watch station. The squad leader waved her over and, soldier at her side, she went to him.

She was shown into the station, down a hall, and into a room. There she saw the captain, now sitting at a desk. She turned to take in the rest of the room and froze in place. Her heart thundered in her chest when she saw who else was in the room: Rowan, Farima and Lythienne, all studiously ignoring each other.

"Sit," the captain ordered. Pariah nervously took the remaining seat. "I'm Captain Zodge," he said, "and you four have been drafted into the Flaming Fist." When mouths opened to object, he snapped, "Silence!" Mouths closed.

"As you probably know, Elturel is gone, now nothing but a hole in the ground. The refugee crisis has stoked fears that Baldur's Gate might suffer the same fate. The fact that our grand duke, Ulder Ravengard, was visiting Elturel on a diplomatic mission when the city was destroyed doesn't seem like a coincidence.

"The knights of Elturgard call themselves the Hellriders. A few of them escaped the destruction and think we're somehow to blame for Elturel's downfall. What a bunch of self-righteous rabble-rousers! Some of them have infiltrated the city and are causing trouble. We're arresting them on sight, but that's left us shorthanded to deal with another problem. For that, I require your help. Understood?"

There was an awkward pause, but it became clear he was looking for an answer. "Hypothetically," said Lythienne, "just hypothetically mind you, what would happen to someone who refused this generous offer?"

He glared at her for a moment, and then he turned to Rowan. "Acolyte, I'm afraid I have some bad news. We have found that priest who went missing. Murdered, his body left to be eaten by rats in the Lower City. Tragic, of course. I suspect it was some of these damn refugees." He pierced each of them with a look. "Or should I investigate further and discover the real murderers?"

The four women took a moment to digest the implied threat. To drive it home, Zodge said, "If we find who did it, they'll hang for sure."

The women looked at each other, no longer feeling the need to pretend to be strangers. Finally, Rowan said carefully, "And what would you have us do?"

He leaned back in his chair. "Baldur's Gate has long been plagued by followers of the Dead Three: the gods Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul. I thought we had wiped them out, but apparently not. These purveyors of fear and death are taking advantage of the current crisis to commit murder sprees throughout the city. As my appointed deputies in this matter, you'll have license to kill these wretches on sight. Find their lair, and wipe it out. Eliminate anyone who gets in your way, and don't worry about collateral damage.

"If you do what I say, I'll see that you each receive two hundred gold pieces in addition to my gratitude, which is worth considerably more. This murder case will be closed, with the conclusion that the refugees murdered him."

The women again exchanged glances. "Stopping minions of the Dead Three," said Rowan slowly. "I'm...okay with that."

Farima's expression had changed from indignation to determination during his speech. She nodded sharply. "Yes. I will gladly hunt them down to administer Lord Tyr's justice."

Lythienne looked conflicted, but finally sighed. "Well, we don't have much of a choice."

All eyes turned on Pariah. She steeled herself. "I have one condition," she said, trying to keep her voice firm.

The captain's eyebrows rose. "Do you really?" he said, danger in his voice.

"Not the refugees," she said. "Blame the cultists. It's more likely they murdered the priest, don't you agree? The refugees have enough problems without you spreading lies about them." Her voice became angry as she finished.

He studied her for a moment. "And what if, as your friend put it, I refuse this generous offer?"

Pariah pursed her lips. "Then I'll confess to the murder." She turned to the other three women. "Myself. Alone." She turned back to the captain. "He had stab wounds, right? From a rapier?" She clapped the weapon at her side. "But I won't let you harass the refugees over this. That's my condition."

Zodge glowered at her, but finally said, "Very well. The cultists murdered the priest."

She nodded. "Then I'm in."

He reached into a drawer, pulled out four copper badges bearing the Flaming Fist's coat of arms and tossed them on the desk. "Carry these at all times and you won't be harassed. You will also be allowed to pass in and out of the gates without toll." Sternly he added, "Do _not_ lose them or sell them or you _will_ regret it."

As each woman took a badge, he said, "A few blocks from the Basilisk Gate is Elfsong Tavern. A spy named Tarina hangs out there, gathering rumors for the Guild. She owes me a favor, so tell her you work for me. Ask her what she knows about the Dead Three. And, for the love of Balduran, be nice. Tarina has dangerous friends. Now, go!"

They exited the station, stowing their new badges. "Does anyone know where this tavern is?" asked Rowan.

"Oh, I know the location of every tavern in the city," Lythienne assured them. "This way."

As they walked, she said brightly, "It's actually a fascinating place, quite charming." She paused. "Well...it's a rough place like anywhere in the Lower City, so be careful. However the story behind the tavern's name is fascinating. The spirit of an unknown elven woman haunts the place. Periodically she sings snatches of a beautiful song. It is a lament of her lover who was lost at sea. It's just heartbreaking. Do any of you speak Elvish?"

"I do," said Rowan.

"Wonderful. I think you'll be touched by the lyrics. They lose something when translated to Common."

"You know this city," said Farima to Lythienne. "Where can we go for a private conversation? I think there is something we need to clear up."

"We do?" asked Rowan. "What?"

Farima's eyes swept over the crowded streets around them. "Later. Without others listening in."

Lythienne thought for a bit. "There are private dining rooms at the Elfsong. We could always take one of those."

Farima nodded. "Yes. I think we should do that before we speak to this agent of Captain Zodge's."

As they walked, Lythienne told them about some of her adventures in the tavern, where she had occasionally performed. It wasn't long before they had walked the few blocks and reached their destination. Lythienne preceded them through the entrance. She spotted the proprietor at the bar and called out, "Alan! How are you? It's been too long."

The man she was addressing was a half elf. He looked about 30, which means he was probably twice that or more, his elven blood keeping him young. His face lit up as Lythienne crossed the room. "Lythienne, my love. I'm much better now than I was a moment ago. Are you going to grace us with a performance?"

"Oh, not tonight. I'm on a different kind of business."

Pariah's eyes swept the room as the two of them talked. The place was a little nicer than average for this part of the city, but that wasn't saying much. There was an assortment of customers from a scar-faced halfling flipping a coin and glaring around him, to a jovial half-orc whose laughter periodically blasted through the noise of the other patrons. Two young human men waited on tables, and flanking the door were a half-ogre woman and...Pariah paused. There was a floating suit of armor there as well. She wasn't sure if the armor was magically animated or if the wearer was invisible.

Her inspection of the armor was cut short when the voice of a woman started singing. Pariah couldn't understand the words, but she'd heard Elvish enough to recognize it. She looked around but saw no source. The noise in the tavern died down as people stopped to listen to the song. The voice sang maybe a dozen lines and then the song faded out. There was a pause, and then conversations resumed.

"Beautiful," Rowan breathed.

"What did she sing?" asked Pariah.

"Oh, I'm not really that good at translating between languages. I can understand it but sometimes it's hard to get the meanings right, especially something poetic like song lyrics. But it's like Lythienne said: she was singing of her lover lost at sea."

Pariah felt moved by the song even though she hadn't understood it.

Lythienne rejoined them. "We are so lucky," she said with excitement. "Nobody ever knows if or when she's going to sing. She might sing several times a night, or she might go days between performances. I've heard it only a few times, and it melts my heart each time."

She sighed and then, returning to the subject, said, "Well, our target is upstairs playing Baldur's Bones. Alan said she's usually up there most of the night. So we can go now or..." She looked over at Farima.

"I think we need to deal with this other matter first," the woman said firmly.

"All right." She gestured towards a curtained doorway. "Alan said the Green Dragon Room is open. Shall we?"

They followed her into the room, a small dining room with a large round table and six wooden chairs that had obviously seen some action. They looked sturdy but were well scarred. The room's namesake -- the head of a young green dragon ‑- hung on one wall. "All right," said Rowan as they settled at the table. "What do you want to talk about?"

Farima turned a glare on Pariah. "What did you do to the priest that night?"

Pariah was taken by surprise by the question. She hadn't realized that was the direction the conversation was going to go. While she struggled with an answer, Lythienne spoke up. "I think," she said with quiet resolve, "that it would be best if we left the events of that night behind us."

"If I am to stand by this woman, then I must know what kind of evil magic she used that night." She turned back to Pariah. "And it was evil, wasn't it?"

Pariah pursed her lips. "What difference does it make?" she asked defiantly.

"It matters to me," Farima insisted. "Tell me."

The two women glared at each other, and then Rowan put her hand on Pariah's arm. Gently she said, "I have to admit, I have been wondering myself. More importantly, I have been wondering if it was related to what happened the night of the sahuagin attack."

If Pariah had been surprised by Farima's question, she was stunned to speechlessness by Rowan's comment. In confusion, Farima asked, "What happened the night of the sahuagin attack?"

Rowan ignored the question and said to Pariah, "I was concerned about you so I sought out the Forgotten to ask them why you had left. They told me about that night, but I want to hear your side of things."

Pariah's mind was whirling. It had been over two months since the sahuagin had broken their truce with Baldur's Gate and swarmed out of the river. Even now, nobody knew why, at least nobody she talked to. She had done her best to forget that night and the horror that it had begun. "It's over," she said emphatically. "It doesn't matter."

Rowan shook her head. "It does matter. If we are going to do this together, fight together like we did that night, then we need to be able to trust each other." She squeezed Pariah's arm and said, "I have my suspicions about what happened, but I need you to tell us. And I need you -- we all need you -- to be honest about it."

Pariah clenched her fists. She hadn't talked to anyone about it. And yet she needed to. She didn't want to face it, but she had to get it out, like vomiting up the poison before it killed you. She hung her head and said, "All right."

She closed her eyes a moment to gather her thoughts. "To understand that night, to really understand the decision I made that night, you need to know about me." She opened her eyes and looked at them. "Do you know how tieflings are born?"

"Mommy and daddy tieflings?" said Lythienne.

Pariah couldn't help but laugh at that remark, and the mood lightened a little bit. "Well, yes, sometimes." Her smile faded. "But many of us have human parents, humans whose bloodlines were corrupted by the devils of the Nine Hells. It might be something one of my parents did, or it might be ten generations back. Nobody really knows all the details. I was told this several years by this nice old man who was crossing the bridge. He saw me and came to talk to me. He knew about my kind but had never met one. He told me all tieflings can trace their bloodlines to one of the archdevils. Most are related to...well, I forget his name. The boss devil. But the old man said he could tell my bloodline had been corrupted by a devil called Levistus."

Realizing she was straying from the subject, she collected herself again and said, "Anyhow, so my parents were human. My father left the day I was born because his wife gave birth to a monster. My mother raised me. She named me Morna. In our local dialect it means 'plague'. That tells you what our relationship was like.

"She never missed an opportunity to tell me how I had ruined her life. She beat me, insulted me, and so on. She did this," she pointed to the deep scar at the base of one horn. "She was trying to cut my horns off. Make me look normal. I'm not sure if she stopped because she was tired or because my screaming and crying finally got to her. I guess I'm glad she did quit, because after my horns she was going to cut off my tail.

"We traveled a lot. No matter how she tried to hide her monster child, people found out, and we moved on again. Then one morning after we'd stayed in some horrible little flophouse in the Outer City, she sat me down on the side of the road and told me to wait. She walked away and never came back. I was five.

"I won't bore you with the story of the next few years. Let's just say I learned to steal, to hide, to run, to fight. Someone started calling me Mouse because I was always scurrying out of hiding to grab food. It caught on, and suddenly that was my name. A crew took me in, but they were pretty much slavers. A few strong people at the top, a lot of weak ones doing the work. It was awful. Then, when I was about fifteen -- I didn't know my age by this time -- a few of us set out to form our own crew. This one would be different. We'd support each other and look out for each other. And that's when we formed the Forgotten.

"It worked. We were careful who we let join. We paid off who we had to for protection, kissed up to others, did what we had to do to survive. It was still awful, but a little less awful. I know it sounds corny, but it was family, the only family I've ever had. And that's what you need to know to understand what happened that night."

She paused as the memories flooded in again. Her voice caught but she pushed on. "When those disgusting fish people came swarming out of the water, the Flaming Fuckboys took off. Hid behind their walls in Wyrm's Rock, leaving the filth to fend for ourselves. Forgotten, as always. A dozen of us managed to retreat into an abandoned house, hoping they'd pass us by, but three of them came in. Not many of us could fight. The others were too weak, too young, too old, too sick, too starving.

"I stood there with my knife. It was a short blade for cutting purses. It wasn't really a weapon. Janshi had a club. Little Pif had a sharp stick. And that was it. The three of us against three big things with scales and teeth and claws and spears. In that moment, I knew we were going to die."

She shook her head. "Suddenly, everything slowed down and just...stopped. We were all frozen, us and them." Her voice broke as she felt tears well up. "And then I heard his voice. The voice of Levistus."

Pariah took a moment to compose herself. "It was cold and empty and strange and familiar. He sighed over this awful thing that was going to happen. He said he could help me. He could give me the power to defend my people, defend my family. All I had to do was kill a priest. A specific priest. Of Tymora. He would help me and then I would have twenty days to live up to my end of the bargain.

"I asked why and all he did was ask if we had a deal. And then things started to move again, very slowly, but they started to move again. I knew I didn't have time to think. I had to make a decision. I had no idea what a monster that priest was at the time, but it didn't matter. One innocent life against eleven innocent lives. A stranger against eleven people I loved. It wasn't a hard decision. I said yes."

She shivered. "I felt it move into me. Coldness. Darkness. Power. My hand felt heavy and I looked down. My knife had been replaced by this." She tapped the hilt of her rapier. "I looked back at the monsters, I felt cold anger building up, and then...nothing.

"I don't know what happened. I don't remember. I just know that suddenly I was standing over them, panting, injured, but standing. They were dead. Bloody. Ice was on their bodies and I knew I had done that. I just didn't know how. But I had won. They were dead. My people were safe. With relief, I turned to look at the people behind me."

Her voice caught again. "They looked at me and they were afraid. More afraid of me than they had been of the sahuagin. I stepped forward and asked if they were all right. They stepped back and dropped their eyes. They nodded, but they were scared. I got mad, demanded to know why they were afraid, but that just scared them more."

She started to take off her glove. "I don't know what they saw, not all of it, but eventually I realized my body was covered with this." She removed the glove to reveal her bare hand. The other three leaned in to look. Her skin was covered with writing, small but sharp, an elaborate foreign script. "It's all over, every speck of my skin below my neck. I guess I should be glad he didn't mark my face."

"What does is say?" asked Rowan.

"It's our agreement." She looked at her hand in wonder. "I can read it, too. I mean I can't read. Never learned. But I can read this. I know it all. Every word. I don't understand it all, but I know it all. I could recite it."

She put her glove back on. "After a few days, I realized I had to leave. It wasn't the same. They were all afraid of me. No matter how much I explained, they just nodded and moved away. They tip-toed around me and apologized for everything. That's what we do, we nobodies, we apologize to the somebodies for existing.

"And, as he reminded me now and then, I had a job to do. A promise to keep. So I went to the Upper City, to the Lady's Hall, and asked to see the priest. He was happy to see me. He closed the door, I attacked him and, well, you all know the rest."

The group was silent while they digested her story. Eventually, Rowan said gently, "That's not all of it. You are leaving something out, aren't you?" Pariah wouldn't meet her gaze. "He didn't ask you to just kill the priest, did he?"

"No," Pariah said softly.

Farima's face twisted in anger. "You took his soul, you monster!"

"No!" Pariah said quickly. "I didn't take it. I just claimed it for him."

Farima jumped to her feet. "And you think that makes it better?"

"NO!" Pariah shouted. "I think that makes it _worse_." Tears started to flow. "You don't understand what it was like. I was just the...the...like a sewer that shit flows through. He reached through me. I felt him. His evil. His sickness. It moved through me to the priest. I felt him take his soul. I heard the priest scream and beg for mercy. I felt his fear, felt him lose hope. I felt him move through me as Levistus took him." She wiped her eyes. "I've had awful things done to me, worse than you can imagine, but nothing, _nothing_ , was as awful as that."

They were silent again. Farima resumed her seat. Coldly she said, "You permitted that vile creature to work through you to harvest a soul. That is a horrifically evil thing to do."

"I know," Pariah mumbled. "Better than you, I know."

"Who cares?" said Lythienne, and the other women looked at her. "OK, yeah, evil bad. I get it. But where do you think his soul was going anyhow? So she helped it along, so what?"

"No," said Rowan. "That's like saying everybody dies so it's okay to murder random people on the street. It's not the same."

Farima nodded emphatically. "To overrule the judgment of the gods is arrogant and blasphemous. To deliberately harvest a soul for one of the infernals is a reprehensible act."

"She's right," Pariah said gloomily.

Lythienne spread her hands. "I don't see the difference, but it's over, right? You did the deal. Done."

Hesitantly Pariah said, "Yes. This deal is done."

Rowan frowned. "But?"

Pariah dropped her head again. "But I think he might come back. He hinted he might."

"This is my point," said Farima. "We cannot trust her. She dabbles with the dark ones and will turn on us."

"I won't," said Pariah, some of her anger coming back. "I won't betray people. And I'll never, ever offer a soul again no matter what the reward."

Farima snorted. "They corrupt. That is what they do. Eventually, you will fall to his evil."

Rowan shook her head. "Maybe, maybe not. Look, I don't claim to know her, but I know _of_ her. She has a widespread reputation as a kind and generous person. She is helpful, she sacrifices for others. She will go hungry so that others can eat."

Farima snorted again.

"Did you mean what you said to the captain?" asked Lythienne. When Pariah's brow furrowed, Lythienne said, "About confessing to the murder if he tried to pin it on the refugees."

"Of course."

Lythienne looked confused. "Why? You don't even know any of them."

Pariah mirrored her confusion. "Why would I need to? They shouldn't pay for what we did."

Lythienne shook her head and said to Farima, "I don't understand that kind of sacrifice myself, but isn't that the kind of person you'd want her to be?"

Rowan added, "And if she is going to be tempted by corruption, shouldn't she be with people who can remind her of the right path? I don't condone the choices she made, but I can appreciate the difficulty she was in."

Lythienne added, And it seems unjust to punish her for what she might do in the future, wouldn't you agree?" She emphasized the word "unjust" every so slightly.

Farima's face clouded. "Perhaps, but it is a fact that tieflings are drawn to evil by their heritage."

"Again, which is why they need our compassion and support more than others," said Rowan. "I stand with her."

Farima frowned and then looked over at Lythienne. The elf shrugged. "I still don't see anything wrong with what she did."

The Calishite's frown deepened. "Very well, I will go along. For now." She turned to Pariah. "If he does contact you again, I expect you to tell us and to be completely forthcoming. If you hide anything from us, I will assume my suspicions to be correct."

Pariah's reply was cut off when they heard the elf woman singing again. The music was different this time, darker, sadder. If her other song was a lament, this was a dirge. Both Lythienne and Rowan looked surprised. "What is it?" Pariah asked.

"The song is different," said Lythienne in wonder.

"What is she saying?" Pariah asked, but Lythienne shushed her. Pariah realized that the tavern outside had gone completely silent rather than just lowering in volume like before. The song worked its way into her thoughts in uncomfortable ways. She almost felt like she could understand it, but the meaning was just out of hearing.

Eventually the song ended. Lythienne and Rowan looked at each other. "It has to be a sign," said the acolyte.

"What did she sing?" asked Farima.

"Wait," said Lythienne. "It's...it's...give me a moment. I want to do the lyrics justice." She closed her eyes and moved her lips for a bit. After a long time, she finally opened them again. "Well, it's not as good as the original, but my best translation would be something like this.

> _O sing a song of Elturel  
>  Of water, woods, and hill  
>  The sun dawns on her ruddy cliffs  
>  And fields green and still.  
>  This land of long-abiding joy  
>  Home of the strong and brave  
>  Renowned by all, across the realms,  
>  And never once a slave.  
>  O sing a song of Elturel  
>  When foes are at her door  
>  Her fields torn by cloven feet  
>  From some infernal shore.  
>  Arise the mighty Hellriders  
>  Take up your swift, keen swords  
>  Then charge into the hellish fray  
>  And scatter devil hordes.  
>  O sing a song of Elturel  
>  And when the night does fall  
>  Sleep safe beneath Companion's light  
>  Until the dawn does call.  
>  We're bound by mortal covenant  
>  That only ends with death  
>  And so we'll sing of Elturel  
>  Until our final breath."_

Farima's brow was knotted in thought. "We speak of devils and she sings of devils. Odd."

Pariah said, "Hellriders. Didn't Zodge talk about them?"

"Yeah, the knights of Elturgard, he said," replied Rowan.

"They are more than that," said Lythienne. "Long ago, the knights of Elturgard descended into the Nine Hells on horseback to battle the devils, thus were given the name. Only a handful returned."

"And the Companion," Pariah said. "It's some kind of holy light over the city, right?"

Lythienne nodded and looked slightly impressed. "Yes. It protects the city against undead. How did you know?"

Pariah shrugged. "A lot of travelers from Elturel come through Wyrm's Crossing. Sometimes it's good to talk to them while picking their pockets."

Lythienne said, "I've been coming here for a long time and I've never heard of the lady singing anything other than the song we heard earlier."

"I wonder if it's related to the fall of the city somehow," mused Rowan.

Farima said, "Perhaps. It may be some kind of portent, and not a beneficent one. The evils of the Hells and the evils of the Dead Three are not usually entwined, but perhaps now they are." She gave Pariah a significant look. "And I must wonder if any of this has to do with our companion."

Pariah opened her mouth to say something rude, but Lythienne said quietly but firmly, "Farima, let us give her the benefit of the doubt until she gives us reason not to."

"Very well," the Calishite growled. "Shall we head upstairs to speak to our contact?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Orphan tiefling warlock who grew up in the slums. Nope, no backstory clichés here. At least she's not a brooding lone wolf. I mean I think I did a good job with the details, but I recognize it's an overused D&D trope.
> 
> It also bears an annoying resemblance to the backstories of the MCs in two of my other posted fics. I seem to be stuck with a type. The other PCs have backstories that are more varied and those will come out in future chapters.


	4. A Rowdy Brawl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **The buried truths are coming out.  
>  A spy shows them the path.  
>  Foes block the way that she did scout  
>  And face the heroes' wrath.**
> 
> * * *

The four women left the private dining room and climbed the steps to the second level of the tavern. This large room was lit by lanterns hanging from the rafters. Rugs covered the floor and helped dampen the sound coming from the patrons who were gathered around two large tables rolling dice; Pariah recognized the game as Baldur's Bones. Lythienne nodded to a human woman at the nearer table. "That's her."

Pariah shook herself out of her funk. She knew how to talk to people. She was good at it. It was time she stopped moaning and starting contributing. "Stay here," she said. The other three seemed surprised but didn't object. Pariah went over to the table, palming her Flaming Fist badge, and reached out to put her hand on Tarina's shoulder. The woman turned and Pariah said, "We should talk."

The woman raised her eyebrows. "Should we?"

Pariah showed her the badge cupped in her hand while keeping it hidden from the others at the table. There was no reason to mark the woman as a snitch. "Yes. You want to do this here or over there?" She nodded at the other three women.

Tarina looked over, sighed, and swept up the coins on the table in front of her. She turned away, handing the dice in her hand to the man who quickly moved up to take her place.

"This better be good," she said as she walked up to the women. "I was winning."

"Zodge sent us," Pariah said. "He wants to know about the Dead Three."

"I'm sure he does," said the spy coyly. "They have been quite busy lately, haven't they?" She looked over the four women and said, "I did come across some useful information about them but I have a price."

"Which is?" Pariah asked.

"Well, it seems some old friends of mine are coming to visit me this evening, here in this very tavern. I'm afraid we had a bit of a disagreement the last time we spoke. About the ownership of a rather large sum of money. They are coming to collect."

Pariah nodded sagely. "And by 'collect', you don't mean coins."

"No, I don't. So here is our problem. I have important information about the Dead Three, information Zodge will want to hear, but if I die here tonight then that information dies with me. Protect me and the information is yours."

Pariah frowned. She thought about trying to get the information out of the woman anyhow -- many people talked when faced with the scary devil woman -- but she remembered Zodge's warning that she had powerful friends. Plus if she were an important asset to him, making an enemy of her would make an enemy of him and that would go badly.

"Tell us first," said Farima, while Pariah was mulling over the situation. "I give my word we will protect you."

Tarina laughed. "And I'm sure you're just the picture of honesty."

Farima was offended. "I do not lie. It serves no purpose. We will try to protect you, but if we cannot this information needs to survive. Many more will die if it does not."

Tarina turned back to Pariah. "Is she kidding?"

Pariah shook her head and rolled her eyes. "She's not from around here. What if we just got you out of here?"

She shrugged. "They'll find me eventually. Better to end it tonight."

"Can you fight?"

Tarina patted her on the shoulder. "That's what you are for, dear. I'll just stay here while you take care of business. Deal?"

Pariah looked at the others. Rowan and Lythienne didn't look that happy but nodded. Farima scowled but finally mumbled, "Agreed."

The tiefling asked, "How will we know these friends of yours?"

"They are sailors...of a sort," she said archly.

"Pirates," Pariah surmised.

Tarina said, "I'm not completely sure who will be coming after me. I heard the captain is dead, so probably his first mate, Dead-Eye. You'll know him because of his cloudy right eye. And, of course, he won't be alone."

"Fine. Go back to your game." As the woman walked off, Pariah said, "Lythienne, what are the chances the bouncers would help us?'

The elf laughed. "What do you think?"

Pariah sighed, "Yeah."

Farima looked confused. "Why would they not stop a murder in their own establishment?"

"It's not their business," Pariah explained. "Let the patrons work out their own problems. Losers pay for damages out of what they can take off the bodies. Bouncers get involved only if one of the staff is in danger. Or if some wizard starts flinging fireballs and the whole tavern in at risk."

"Absurd," mumbled Farima. "Well, what if we attempt to negotiate with them?"

"With what? What do we have to offer?"

Farima sputtered. "Perhaps we could bribe them."

Pariah snorted. "If all four of us put every copper we had in a pile, I think the best he'd do is laugh in our faces before he killed us. There is no way we have enough to tempt him. This is going to be a fight."

"I do not wish to ambush someone who is not yet an enemy."

Pariah wondered how this woman had survived for so long. However, she needed Farima on her side. "Fine," she said. "I will try to negotiate?"

"Why you?" Farima said archly.

"Because I know how to talk to people like that."

Farima sneered. "Yes, I imagine you do."

Pariah felt her temper rising when Lythienne said, with just a hint of steel in her voice, "That's enough. Both of you. Farima, her plan sounds good, don't you agree?"

The Calishite grumbled, "Yes, I suppose so."

"Fine," said Rowan. "Let's all wait downstairs."

They did so and settled at one of the tables. Pariah nursed an ale as did Rowan; Lythienne made a significant dent in a bottle of wine. Farima drank nothing, much to the annoyance of the tavern keeper.

Pariah was starting to wonder if the crew was going to show up when a boisterous group of sailors came through the front door. Even from this distance she could see one, a brawny man dressed more gaudily than the others, had a milky eye. He also had no less than seven crewmen with him. "Shit," she breathed. "We may have a problem."

"That's...a lot of them," Lythienne said.

"Yeah," said the tiefling. "I was expecting three or four. Maybe we could slip upstairs. Funnel them up the steps."

Before the others could reply, the dead-eyed man bellowed, "We're looking for an old friend of ours." He sniffed the air. "Goes by the name Tarina, or so I'm told. Loves to cheat at Baldur's Bones. Ale's on me for anyone who tells me where to find her."

At least four different patrons said, nearly in chorus, "She's upstairs."

The captain grinned, showing a mouth full of yellow teeth. "Barkeep, set those fine people with as much as they can drink." He turned to his crew. "You two, outside. Make sure she doesn't get out a window. You, on the door. The rest of you, go fetch her for me. Alive, if ye can."

He settled down at a table that quickly cleared as he came near. "Ale for me as well," he yelled at the bartender.

Pariah was debating what to do when Farima stood. "Stop, foul brigands!"

"Talona's tits," Pariah sighed. "OK, it looks like we are doing this."

Pariah stood and drew her blade. She moved to stand in front of the stairway. "Get behind me," she growled at Farima. The Calishite hesitated but then mounted the stairs so she could see over Pariah's head. Lythienne moved to stand next to the tiefling, and Rowan moved to the other side, ducking inside the door of one of the private dining rooms. The acolyte mumbled, "Fortune favors the bold," and Pariah felt a comforting warmth infuse her body.

The pirate crew stopped and glanced back at the captain. He chuckled evilly. "Well, what kind of nonsense is this? Did the girl hire herself some muscle?"

"Not much of it," snickered one of the pirates, and the other pirates laughed too hard at the joke. The patrons were quickly moving to the sides of the room, seeking what cover they could.

"Don't break my furniture!" Alan warned, as he ducked behind his bar.

The captain hadn't broken gaze with Pariah. The tiefling said, "All right, captain. What's it going to take to get you to leave?"

He laughed at that, and then said over his shoulder, "Barkeep, where's my ale?"

"You'll get your ale when the fight's over. I'm not risking my people."

The captain sighed. "Oh, very well." He stood and walked towards the bar. To the tiefling he said, "I've come to collect my debt. Pay me five thousand gold pieces and I'll be on me way."

"Five thousand?" came an indignant woman's voice from upstairs. "I took barely four!"

"Payment for my trouble comin' t' find ye," he shouted in the direction of the stairs. Alan passed a mug of ale up from his hiding place. The captain took it, drank deeply, and started back to his table. He pierced Pariah with a gaze from his good eye. "So, lass, d'ye have five thousand gold."

"Sorry, I'm a little short at the moment. I spend too much on ale. You know how it is."

"Aye, I do that." He looked them over and shook his head. "Look, girl. I doubt any of you has been in a proper fight." He frowned. "Maybe you, but not the others. Why don't ye run along before we have to get impolite?"

"Why don't you make me," she growled at him.

"Oh, very well," he sighed as he resumed his seat. "Crew, kill them."

Pariah flung out her left arm. She felt the cold move up and ice formed along her glove as a white beam lashed out and struck one of the advancing pirates. A bolt from Farima's staff also struck him, but he kept advancing. The four crewmen closed and as they did, Lythienne lashed out with two powerful punches. As that man fell, the elf dodged the scimitar of a second. The other two struck at Pariah and she avoided one but the other cut a gash in her side.

Lythienne slammed a kick into the other pirate engaged with her, and he went down as well. Pariah was starting to realize the dancer wasn't such a liability after all. The pirate Pariah had previously cast a spell at was hit by a bolt from Farima's staff and he collapsed. Pariah avoided the scimitar of the last one. He dodged her blade but jerked back when hit by something shiny that came from behind Pariah where Rowan was. Pariah could see it was a large coin, but the edges were jagged and sharp. Lythienne moved up his other side, and with one blow he was on the ground as well.

The captain glowered at them. "I guess y'have some skill after all. Let's see how you fare against a real pirate." He leapt to his feet and came at them with his own scimitar. He slashed at Lythienne, who had just taken down three of his sailors, but she dodged nimbly out of the way, laughing at him. Pariah stabbed at him and connected, but he barely seemed to feel the wound. Farima and Rowan poured magical bolts into him, but he shrugged off the damage and kept slashing. He took an enormous amount of punishment, but the elf was able to dodge his every swing, mocking his inability to perform. He weakened and finally Pariah was able to strike the final blow.

When she did, something flowed into her from his body. It was something dark, but it wasn't like when she had claimed the priest's soul. It flowed into her flesh, invigorating her. It felt good, but it worried her.

"What was that?" snapped Farima, who was watching her closely.

Pariah ignored her. She spotted the pirate who had been tasked with guarding the door, now looking a little scared and fingering the hilt of his blade. She pointed her rapier at him. "I'm too tired to come all the way over there and kill you. Get out, get your friends outside, and don't come back." He gulped, nodded, and darted out the door.

"I asked you a question," said Farima.

"I don't know what that was." Pariah looked around. The patrons were already starting to move back to their tables. "We'll talk about it later."

"You said you would be honest with us about your dark dealings," the Calishite accused her.

"And I will," Pariah said firmly, "but not right now. Let's deal with this first. All right?"

Lythienne said, "She's has a point, Farima. Let's revisit this later."

Farima glared at Pariah but nodded. Rowan moved up next to Pariah and put her hand on the spreading bloodstain on Pariah's side. The acolyte mumbled a prayer and Pariah felt the pain subside. "That will hold you for a bit," said Rowan, "but it needs a real bandage at some point."

Tarina came down the stairs as the patrons came out from hiding and returned to their seats. "Nice job," she said. "I really thought he was going to kill you guys. Glad I was wrong."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Pariah said sourly. "Now it's your turn, and your information better be worth it."

"Oh, it is. It is. "Several blocks northwest of here is a public bathhouse with a walled garden and frolicking nymphs carved into its front gates. Do you know the place?"

Pariah shrugged, but Lythienne said, "Yes, I know the place you mean."

"Good. Followers of the Dead Three have been seen coming and going from the bathhouse, and I'm told there's a secret door inside that leads to underground tunnels. That's where the killers are hiding. Now, with our business done, can I get back to my game?" She went back up the stairs without waiting for an answer.

"Do you think his crewmates will be out for revenge?" Pariah called up after her.

"I doubt it. They'll be too busy fighting over who's captain now."

Pariah knelt down and started rifling the captain's pockets.

"Again?" Farima sneered.

"Yes, again," Pariah said tiredly. "He's got not use for any of it. Get us a table. I could use a drink." He had a decent purse as well as some very nice jewelry. The other pirates had just a few silver coins. She had to resist the street urchin urge to strip them bare and pull their teeth. This was a good haul; a few more coppers wouldn't matter.

A shape loomed over her. She looked up to see the half-ogre bouncer standing over her. "You done?" she growled.

"Yeah," said Pariah, getting up. The half-ogre grabbed the bodies and started hauling them towards the door. They'd be pitched out on the street for the Flaming Fist to deal with, and of course nobody in the bar would remember anything happening there. That blood on the floor? Yeah, that's been there for years.

She stopped at the bar to leave a few gold coins for the barkeep. "For the trouble," she said. He grunted and swept them off the counter. She then joined the other women; an ale was already waiting for her. As she sat down, Rowan said, "Let me check your wound real quick. Make sure it's stopped bleeding." She leaned down to lift the tiefling's shirt and then gasped. Pariah looked down in surprise. "Sorry," the acolyte said. "I forgot about your markings."

Pariah could see a lot of the infernal script was exposed. It was the side that wasn't exposed to the room, so she decided to let Rowan continue. "I can say some more healing prayers in the morning," Rowan said as she looked it over. "Let me put a bandage on it."

"It's fine," said Pariah firmly as she pushed her shirt back down. Rowan hesitated but backed off.

Pariah divvied up the takings into four piles as fair as she could make them and pushed one in front of each woman. Lythienne scooped hers up. Rowan and Farima hesitated, the Calishite looking at the valuables like they were something in the street she didn't want to step in. "Give it to your temples, if you like." Pariah had felt a little bad that she hadn't shared the priest's possessions even though they had turned down her offer. "I insist," she said firmly.

Rowan took hers, and finally Farima followed suit. "It's later," she said. "Tell me what happened. Tell me you did _not_ take another soul." Her voice was low but angry.

"I didn't," Pariah said hotly. "It wasn't the same. Not at all. It didn't feel sick and wrong. It was...healing. Sort of."

"It _wasn't_ the same," Rowan said. "It didn't have that taint of corruption."

Farima pursed her lips. "Very well. I will admit it did not carry the same sense of evil. But that doesn't change that you seemed to pull something out of him when you killed him. What was it?"

"A gift," said the dark voice in her head, and goose bumps rose on her skin.

Pariah stiffened. She looked at the other women, feeling herself start to panic. "What is it?" asked Rowan in concern.

She knew she had to tell them, to be honest. "He's speaking to me," she said in a whisper.

"What is the evil one saying?" Farima grated.

Pariah put up a hand to forestall her. "What kind of gift?" she asked.

"The gift of life, of course."

Afraid to ask, she said, "Was it part of his soul?"

"Of course not. I would never waste something so valuable on you." Pariah felt relief and shook her head at the other women. "No," Levistus continued, "his soul went to the City of Judgment. What you got was a small bit of his life force before it diffused out into the universe, lost forever. It does not heal you, but it strengthens you for a time. You will get this boon every time you kill an opponent with the weapon that was my first gift to you."

"Why?" she asked.

"I reward those who serve me well, and you have. And I wish you to serve me again."

"I won't," she said through grated teeth.

"Hear my offer. Then decide. If you refuse, then I shall be on my way."

She scanned the faces of the other woman. Lythienne looked curious, Rowan looked concerned, and Farima looked angry. "Fine. Talk."

"The place you go, the lair of the Dead Three. There you will find a man. A large man, bald and scarred, by the name of Mortlock Vanthampur." Suddenly she had a memory of him, even though she had never met him. "Save him. In return, I will grant you more power."

Pariah's brow furrowed. "Save him? Not kill him. Not claim his soul."

"Yes. Save him."

"Why? Is he one of your worshipers?"

"Do we have a deal?"

Pariah frowned. To the waiting women she said, "He wants us to save someone in the lair of the Dead Three. Someone named Mortlock Vanthampur."

"Vanthampur," said Rowan. "Like the duke?" Pariah gave her a blank look. Rowan sputtered a bit and said, "Duke Thalamra Vanthampur is one of Council of Four who runs this city." Pariah shrugged. She never really cared which nob was in charge. It's not like any of them treated the filth better than the others. Rowan asked, "Does he say who this Mortlock is? Or why he wants you to save him?"

Pariah shook her head. "No, just that he's there. And he sent me an image of what he looks like. Big and bald."

Farima's eye's narrowed. "And that's all?" she asked suspiciously.

Pariah put her hands out defensively. "Hey, I find it hard to believe, too. But that's all he's asking."

Lythienne asked, "And what do you get in return?"

"Yeah, what _do_ I get?" she asked, directing the question back at Levistus. "You're being pretty vague about that. What does 'more power' mean?"

There was a pause and she thought he might not answer, but then she shivered as he spoke again. "I will expand your understanding of the power I have granted you. Among other things this magic will allow you to disguise your form, and will expand your ability to read the intentions of others, to know what to say to win them to your desires."

"I don't want to control people's minds," she growled. There was nothing worse to her than to take away someone's ability to make their own decisions.

"Nothing so crude," the devil chuckled. "No, you will simply be more articulate, more sensitive to their desires, better able to know what they want."

Pariah frowned. When things sounded too good to be true, they usually were. "You still haven't answered what you get out of this. Who is this man?"

"What I get out of this is a loyal servant. You."

"I'm not your servant," she snarled.

He chuckled again. "I foresee a mutually profitable relationship between us. From time to time, I will ask you to perform a task. In return, I will reward you. Then, like now, you may refuse the task. Of course you also refuse the reward."

Pariah drained her mug and signaled for another. To the other women she said, "He says he'll grant me more magical power. He insists that all he wants is for me to rescue this man. And...he says he will have other jobs for me in the future. He claims I can refuse to do them, but that's probably a lie."

Farima said grudgingly, "The devils do not lie, but they do mislead. Their truths often are more deceptive than outright falsehoods. I counsel you against accepting his aid. Even if he gives you what he claims, and even if his tasks seem mundane or even beneficial, helping an immortal evil being does not bode well for anyone."

"Do I have to answer you now?" she asked him

"No. Find the man. Save him or do not. If you choose to save him, you will have my gift."

She shook her head at the others. "Look, I don't know how I feel about this either. But we are going into tunnels to find out about the Dead Three, right?" The other three looked at each other and then nodded. "So we go. See what happens. Decide at the time if we are going to save him, not because some voice in my head tells us to, but because we decide to. All right?"

Rowan and Lythienne seemed agreeable, but Farima's face was still clouded. "If he wants the man to be saved, then we should kill him," she said firmly.

"Unless that's what Levistus really wants," said Lythienne. Farima looked puzzled. "You said they mislead," the elf observed. "Well, maybe he _knows_ we'll do the opposite of what he says. Maybe he really wants this man dead. Or he wants us to just walk away and not go into the bathhouse. Or maybe he wants something completely different that we will happen to do on our way to save this man. I know countless stories where the hero is manipulated by such half-truths."

Farima considered that and then looked defeated. "Yes. It is impossible for mortals to plumb the minds of the infernals. Their plans span centuries and we cannot understand them."

Lythienne said, "So that's why _we_ make the decision. All right?"

"Very well," Farima sighed. "But let us not forget our mission for the Flaming Fist. We are to stop these Dead Three attacks. If this man is behind it, killing him may be what needs to be done."

She turned back to Pariah. "You still haven't answered my original question. What happened when you killed the pirate captain?"

"Oh, well he said it wasn't his soul or anything like that. He said it was...his leaking life force?" She shrugged. "Something like that. He said it will happen if I strike the killing blow on someone."

Farima looked skeptical, but Rowan nodded. "That makes sense. When a person dies, there is a life essence that seeps out. It's kind of like spiritual blood. It's not the person, not the soul, but it supports the soul like blood supports the body. One of the prayers I know can stem that loss of essence, stabilizing a mortally injured creature for a time even if the body is ready to die." She thought for a moment. "I think he's telling the truth. Now that Pariah has described it like that, I admit that energy did seem similar to the energy I have encountered the few times I've used that prayer."

Farima pursed her lips. "I do not like taking aid of any kind from one of the infernal ones."

"You aren't," Pariah said a bit sharply. "I am. Now can we just finish our drinks?"

Lythienne perked up. "That's a plan I can get behind," she said, raising her wine glass.

"I assume we aren't going to check out the bathhouse tonight," said Pariah.

"I think that would be best," said Rowan. "We are tired. We got lucky in the fight tonight. We should rest and maybe visit the bathhouse as customers tomorrow. See what we can see."

They finished their drinks and agreed to meet at the bathhouse in the morning. Lythienne wanted to stay at the tavern for a bit but the others decided to head out and go home. The three of them exited into the dimly lit street. As they were saying their goodnights, movement caught Pariah's eye. She saw a figure step out of the shadows and a prickling started down her spine. "Talona's tits," she said, drawing her blade. "Rowan, go get Lythienne. I think we are going to need her."

"Huh?" said the acolyte. She looked in the direction Pariah was looking. "Oh, no," she said. She hurried back to the door of the tavern. "Lythienne," she yelled inside. "We need you out here. Now!"

"There is another one behind you," said Farima. She raised her staff and it burst into bright illumination. "Step forth into the light, pirates!" she said.

Pariah had assumed the same, that these were pirates out to avenge their captain. As the woman she saw came out from the shadows, Pariah realized she was wearing chainmail, heavy armor for a sailor. She also had a black hand painted on her shield. "Die, enemies of Bane!" the stranger snarled as she charged forward, mace in hand.

Pariah was focused on the one in front of her. She was worried about the one behind, especially since Farima was the only other one of them still in the street. However on the edge of her vision she saw Lythienne come out of the tavern, sigh "Really?" in exasperation, and then move up to engage the other.

Pariah sent a freezing bolt towards the charging woman, but she blocked it with her shield. The woman closed and swung her mace, smashing it into Pariah's arm. The tiefling felt cold anger rising up in her, and suddenly the woman was engulfed in a frigid whirlwind for a few seconds, leaving frost on her armor and exposed face. Pariah wasn't sure where that had come from, but the woman looked shaken.

The tiefling stabbed with her rapier, avoided the shield but the point glanced off the armor underneath. In return she took another hit from the mace, and gasped as it knocked the breath out of her. Pariah reached out and slapped the woman's shoulder, willing the cold forth, and the icy beam penetrated her armor easily. The woman struck back but her movements were starting to slow from the cold magic and Pariah dodged the blow.

She heard the battle going on behind her but assumed the other were handling it; certainly none of them were helping her. A cry of victory came from Lythienne, and the elf came around Pariah's left side to strike at the attacker. The target avoided it, but all four women were now focused on the remaining enemy. The minion of Bane struck out blindly and caught Pariah a blow on the side of her head. The tiefling staggered and then felt the world fade as she collapsed to the ground.

* * *

The world was dark when Pariah awoke. Well, to a human it would have been. Pariah's eyes could see a dim black-and-white image as she sat up and looked around. She was in an unfamiliar and sparsely furnished bedroom. She looked down and saw Rowan sleeping on a mat on the floor next to the simple cot Pariah was in. The tiefling looked down at herself and saw she was covered with a blanket. Under that she was in her underwear, her infernal tattoos exposed. Her wound from the pirates had been cleaned and bandaged.

She saw a stack of what looked like her things on top of a small table in the corner. She didn't see any easy way to get out of the cot with Rowan lying there, so Pariah stretched her leg down and poked her with a toe.

Rowan woke up with a start. She looked up at Pariah and said sleepily, "Oh, hi. You're awake." She sat up and stretched. "How are you feeling?"

"Achy," said the tiefling. "Where are we?"

"At the temple. This is my cell. The other two are in guest quarters here."

Pariah swung her legs out of bed. "So what happened?"

Rowan got up and stretched again. "The other one went down pretty quick after you fell. She was dead." She reached down to spark the lamp by the bed so the room was dimly lit. She sat on the cot next to Pariah. "The first one was alive so we questioned him a bit until the Flaming Fist showed up. He said they were after us for the death of the priest." She frowned. "He said there will be others. That was one reason we decided to all come back here. It might be best for us to stay together for a bit. If they'd ambushed one of us alone..." She shook her head. "Anyhow, once the Fist showed up, they took him into custody. We carried you here and got you some healing."

"Thanks," Pariah said as she stood. She walked over to her clothes and started dressing.

"You don't have to rush off," said Rowan with a yawn. "Go back to sleep. You need your rest."

"It's not that," said Pariah. "I just don't feel comfortable...well...showing this to people." She waved vaguely at the writing on her body.

Rowan stared at it for a bit before meeting her gaze again. "For what it's worth, it doesn't bother me. I mean it's a little surprising at first, but it's not something you have to hide."

Pariah finished dressing. The woman seemed to be genuine. "Maybe," she said. "I still feel better covered up."

Rowan shrugged. "All right. I understand."

"Is everyone else OK?" Pariah asked as she returned to sit next to Rowan.

"Yes. You seem to be the damage magnet of the group," she teased.

"Only because I can't move as fast as that elf," she chuckled. She looked over at her armor. "I may need to buy something better than that, though."

Rowan nodded. "I like the light chain I wear. I'm still pretty maneuverable, but it turns a blade better than leather."

"I was surprised to see you wearing that," Pariah admitted. "Not exactly standard for a temple acolyte."

"Temple priest," Rowan said, a little embarrassed. "I got a promotion." Pariah raised her eyebrows. "After the head priest disappeared under mysterious circumstances," Rowan said dryly, "there was a shift. It left a low level vacancy and I was next in line."

"Congratulations," Pariah said.

Rowan shrugged. "I guess. I really was next in line, I've worked towards it for a long time, but knowing how I got it leaves a bad taste. I mean he deserved it, but I don't like profiting from something like that." Then, to change the subject, she said, "But the armor has a different story."

She settled back against the wall. "I left the temple for a while. I saw adventurers come and go and I wanted more. I felt I could help, more than just a mumbled prayer before a group goes out to face their deaths. Fortune favors the bold. So I joined some of them." She waved the stump of her arm. "It didn't go well."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Pariah said. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Rowan smiled. "No, it's fine. It was a while ago. A group was headed into Ramazith's Tower. Have you heard of it?"

Pariah's brow furrowed. "Some haunted tower in the Upper City, right?"

"Sort of. Used to belong to a wizard who died mysteriously. The tower stayed empty for decades until it was bought by a young mage. However, apparently the upper levels are quite dangerous so he funds expeditions to explore it. I went along with one, hoping to bring Tymora's blessing to them. Long story short, we got ambushed by something, I'm still not sure what. It was dark and confusing. Three of us made it out; two didn't. I lost my arm. Another ended up at the Church of Lost Hope. The third retired." She looked lost for a moment. "Huh, to Elturel. I hadn't put that together before. I wonder if he got out." She shook her head. "There is something wrong with this city. Something is just broken, and I don't know what it is. It didn't used to be like this here. Too many creatures in the sewers and things stalking the streets and towers full of horrors. Murder is so commonplace it's barely worth noticing anymore. And not normal murders. Bodies ripped to shreds while still carrying their gold. People suddenly striking down their loved ones for no reason. There is madness here. No city should be like that."

She started to sink into a funk and then shook herself out of it. "Sorry, getting a little maudlin there."

"No reason to be sorry." Pariah shrugged. "I mean I know this city is shit, but it's the only place I've ever been. Well, since my mother left me, and my memories of before that are pretty hazy. I don't know what the rest of the world is like. I'd like to think this isn't normal, but it's all I know."

"There are definitely better places than Baldur's Gate," Rowan assured her. "Sometimes I think about leaving, but this is the place that needs me the most." She yawned.

Pariah stood, "Why don't you go back to sleep? I feel bad for taking your bed."

"No, I'm fine. You are wounded, you should have the bed."

"I feel a lot better now. Besides, I'm not going to go back to sleep." She reached out and picked up her sword in its sheath. "I think I'm going to go out and practice a bit. Loosen up. If we are going to the bathhouse today, I want to be ready."

"Well, all right. They'll serve breakfast in a bit. I'll come get you and the others." Rowan settled into the bed, and Pariah quietly exited the room as she strapped on the scabbard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ran the first battle in the tavern as written and they got slaughtered, so I decided to have the pirates attack in waves. I also had to consider that the battle outside was coming up so they needed not to be too banged up. My first try at the battle scene was pretty bad. You could see the initiative order. I rewrote it to hit the highlights and it's better. I still like using some die rolls to shape the story, but that doesn't mean it should read like a D&D session.
> 
> For story purposes, I've extended the effect of Spare the Dying to have a minor wound treatment effect. It doesn't do any healing, but it addresses the issue of providing some kind of first aid to someone who's been stabbed in combat but not enough to be worth a real healing spell. It's the magical equivalent of Band-Aids and aspirin. In a later chapter, it will serve as a hangover cure. It's purely a cosmetic thing, no actual game effect.
> 
> I'm currently writing 13 chapters ahead of what I'm posting and that gave me the opportunity to realize something recently: Lythienne's character was not working. She didn't have a solid role in the group outside of combat, and she had no real motivation to follow the story line. She's not a bad character, she just didn't fit in the story.
> 
> I spent several days trying to figure out who she should be and fleshing out her history some more. I'm much happier with the fit now. I'm now having to rewrite parts of what I've done, but most of that is work that hasn't been posted yet. I've gone back and tweaked the conversation in Chapter 3 a bit, though it's not worth going back and re-reading the chapter. I didn't change anything major, just adjusted her role in the conversation a bit to fit the changes to her character. I'm hoping I don't have to retcon posted chapters too much in the future.


	5. A Hidden Tunnel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Pristine and perfumed baths above;  
>  Corrupted filth below.  
>  To deadly three, men show their love  
>  While blood and evil flow**
> 
> * * *

Pariah sparred with herself in the cool pre-dawn light of the temple courtyard. She was feeling more comfortable with the blade. It felt like an extension of her arm rather than a length of metal she was swinging around. With the money she had gotten from the priest, she had taken some lessons at Garmult's. He was a retired gladiator who ran a weapons school, and occasionally had lines on bodyguarding and other jobs. Pariah was still trying to figure out where her path was, and only just getting used to the idea of not being a beggar and pickpocket.

She had managed a good workout when Rowan came to find her. "They are getting ready to serve breakfast," said the acolyte...no, Pariah reminded herself, the _priest_. Rowan led her out of the courtyard and showed her to the dining room. There, along with the other three, she was served a simple meal of porridge, bread and jam. Lythienne was pleased to see Pariah up and around, and even Farima gave her an almost friendly grunt. The four of them didn't talk much; none of them felt comfortable discussing their plans for the day with others around. When they were finished, they gathered their things and met outside.

Following Rowan's advice, they didn't head straight for the bathhouse. Instead they went to the Wide, the large marketplace in the Upper City, to stock up on supplies. They bought healing potions, and Pariah invested in a suit of light chainmail. Thus prepared, they headed for the Lower City and the bathhouse.

The bathhouse was a twenty foot tall stucco building with stained glass windows and clay roof tiles. Ten-foot walls enclosed a large courtyard outside the southeast corner of the building. The closed wooden doors to the courtyard were engraved with images of smiling nymphs dancing and frolicking in water. There was nothing overtly suspicious about the place. They pushed the outer doors open and entered an L-shaped courtyard featuring a trimmed lawn and nicely manicured shrubbery. The yard was decorated with white marble benches and stone fountains, each in the form of a smiling nymph tipping a jug that spilled water into a circular stone basin. At the other end of the L was the door into the bathhouse itself, which they entered.

The walls of this twenty-foot-high pillared chamber were adorned with frescoes of bathing royalty. Natural light streamed through stained glass windows, creating colorful patterns on the tiles of polished blue marble that cover the floor. Three shallow, sunken pools held scintillating perfume-scented water. White marble benches bearing stacks of dry towels were situated near the three pools, each of which was equipped with a pair of brass faucets.

Two bathers were in the chamber, each in a separate pool. One was a male human about 40 with curly auburn hair and beard, and rough, dark skin. The other was an elderly gnome woman with gray hair that was cropped close to her skull. Both bathers ignored the newcomers.

Towards the back were two doors, one open and one closed. "Those are the massage chambers," said Lythienne. "One must be occupied."

Rowan asked, "Are the masseuses the only staff?" Lythienne nodded and Rowan said, "How about if I go get a massage? I can question the masseuse and look around the room."

"For a sign that says, 'This way to the dungeon'?" asked Lythienne lightly.

"Something like that," chuckled Rowan. "If the other massage room opens up, one of you could try the same there."

She headed off and Lythienne started to undress. "What are you doing?" asked Farima.

Lythienne paused to raise an eyebrow. "It's a bathhouse. What do you think I'm doing? Not only would I enjoy a bath, it's going to look awfully suspicious if we just stand around with armor and weapons."

Farima pursed her lips. "Good point," she said and started to undress as well. After a moment, they both looked at Pariah.

"No," she said. They looked confused and, with an annoyed gesture, she pulled down the edge of her glove to reveal her tattoos. Lythienne nodded in understanding.

The two women slipped into the empty pool. Pariah sat on the marble bench for a bit, feeling out of place. She thought about waiting outside but decided to make herself useful. She eyed the man and then decided to head to the bench by the elderly gnome woman.

The woman eyed her as she approached and nodded a greeting. "You can join me if you like," she said in a raspy voice.

"Thanks, but I'm fine," Pariah said with a smile. She went to sit on the bench by the pool. The gnome shifted position to face her, but not before Pariah caught site of a nasty scar down her back. To the gnome she said, "You don't mind sharing a bath with one of my kind?"

The gnome cackled. "Honey, I don't care if you're one of the zombies from Cliffside, as long as you behave yourself. I've known some tieflings. Good ones and bad ones. Not really any different from the rest of us."

"Have you lived here in Baldur's Gate long?"

"I don't live here at all. I was just passing through when I got trapped by this damned lockdown. Still, I was headed for Elturel to see my brother, so I guess I should count myself lucky."

"Oh, I'm sorry about your brother."

"Ha!" she said. "Don't be. He was an ass."

Pariah grinned. "Where will you go when the city opens up?"

The gnome shrugged. "Anywhere I can find work. I've heard about a few opportunities here, but it sounds like Nine-Fingers has this place a little too sewn up for my liking."

"Ah," said Pariah sagely. "That kind of work."

The gnome cocked her head. "You do any of that kind of work yourself? Got any ins with the Guild?"

Pariah shook her head. "I'm Outer City filth. We're usually beneath their notice. Still, it sounds like you've had your ear to the ground. Heard anything interesting about this area?"

"Interesting? Like what?"

"Like this bathhouse. I've heard some rumors about some activity around here. I wondered if it was centered here."

The gnome looked around. "Where? There's nothing here but a couple of watery holes in the ground."

Pariah felt disappointed. "Yeah, that's kind of what I thought. My rumors must have been wrong. Maybe one of the other buildings nearby."

She continued to chat with the gnome for a bit but the woman had no useful information. A man came out of the other massage room and Pariah looked over at the Farima and Lythienne. They seemed to be discussing which of them would go for a massage when Rowan came out of her massage room. Pariah went to join her and the other two.

"That was very productive," Rowan said. "Very good massage too," she added with a luxurious stretch. "This bathhouse is owned by Duke Vanthampur and run by her son, Mortlock. And yes, he's big and bald, like Pariah described."

"Hmm," said Pariah. "I wonder what Levistus wants with him. Anything else?"

"The masseuse has strict orders not to hang around after hours. He's pretty sure some shady business is going on here at night, something the duke doesn't know about, but he doesn't know more than that." She grinned. "At least that's what he said. I pressed him a bit and he finally opened up that there is an odd draft in the other massage room and a faint smell of sewage. I think the entrance to the dungeon is in there."

Four pairs of eyes turned to the door of the second massage room. "Should we come back tonight?" asked Lythienne.

"Probably better to look now," said Pariah. "This place is more likely to be guarded at night. It sounds like the masseuse isn't in on it, do you agree, Rowan?"

The cleric nodded. "Yes, I think he's just what he looks like, and if anything scared of Mortlock. Certainly not cooperating."

"Then let's investigate now." The others mumbled agreement.

Lythienne and Farima dried off and got dressed, and then they headed for the other massage room. Inside they found a human woman. She smiled at them brightly. "And which one of you would like a massage?"

Pariah looked at her in concern. "You look tired," she said. "I think they are working you too hard here. I'm sure a walk in the garden would do wonders for you."

The woman looked puzzled. "No, not at all. I feel quite refreshed."

"No," said Pariah more firmly. "You are tired. You want to take a walk in the garden. And that way, when anyone asks, you can honestly say you had no idea what those strangers were doing. Right?" She pulled silver coin out of her pouch and held it between two fingers.

The woman's expression changed to one of worry. "Oh...yes. A walk in the garden sounds lovely." She moved to the exit, taking Pariah's offered coin. "Shall I close the door?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Yes, thank you," said Pariah.

After she left, the four women looked around the room. The massage table was draped with clean towels. Under the tables were bottles of liquid. Rowan said that, according to the labels, they were perfumes.

"What's this?" asked Lythienne, peering into a corner. She pushed on a wall and it shifted slightly. She pushed harder, and it opened on a stiff hinge. The four women gagged a bit as a strong sewer smell came from the doorway. Through it was a narrow corridor that wrapped around the corner of the building. They filed in, closed the door behind them and followed the hall to a steep stairway leading down, lit by two sputtering torches in wall sconces. Farima muttered a protection spell and a slight shimmer surrounded her body.

"Who wants to go first?" asked Rowan, her hand covering her mouth and nose in a futile attempt to block the smell.

"I'll go," said Pariah. "I'm good at moving quietly, and this smells like home to a street rat like me."

"No," said Lythienne reluctantly. "I'll go. We're going to get the smell regardless. And the eyes of an elf are sharper than most."

"All right, but I'll be close behind. Farima after me. Rowan at the back. Make sure nothing comes up behind us."

They descended into the noisome dungeon. The stairway descended about twenty feet into a dark room; there were no torches other than the two on the stairs. Lythienne hesitated on the stairs. "It's full of water," she whispered back. Pariah looked past her and her darkvision revealed she was right.

"Shall I make a light?" asked Farima. "You two can see, but Rowan and I cannot."

"Wait," said Pariah. She thought about it. "Lythienne and I will scout ahead. After we've moved into the darkness, you make your light. Follow us about thirty feet back. And I'll say it again: keep your eyes open. Don't let anything come up behind us."

With a disgusted noise, Lythienne waded into the water. It was cold and foul, and it was hard to see what was in it. The stairs stopped after another couple of feet, leaving the water just above their knees. The room was empty. A dim illumination flared behind them as Farima lit up her staff. Pariah signaled for them to wait as she and Lythienne looked around. There was a side room, small and also empty, and a narrow hallway leading further in. She beckoned the other two and followed Lythienne into the corridor.

The hall turned to the left and then sloped up slightly out of the water. It curved back to the right and ended in a door of rotting wood. Lythienne approached the door and listened carefully. After a moment she reached out and carefully turned the latch. She cracked the door open, peeked through, and then opened it fully.

Lythienne and Pariah entered the circular room past the door. To the right was a corridor that sloped down into the water again. Across and to the left were other doors, each with the drawing of a man. As Rowan and Farima joined them and closed the door they had come through, Pariah saw it had an illustration of a man as well. Rowan frowned. "The Dead Three," she whispered. She pointed to the door they came through, decorated with the drawing of a hulking brute covered in wounds and holding a bloody dagger. "Bhaal, god of murder". She pointed to the door to their left, which showed a man in armor, his hand painted black. "Bane, god of tyranny." Finally she pointed to the door ahead, which portrayed a skeletal man in black robes. "Myrkul, god of death."

"Well, I don't want to go back into the water, so I say we pick one of the doors," said Lythienne.

"Well, we came from that one," said Rowan. "Between the priest we killed and the ones who attacked us last night, I feel like Bane is our goal."

Pariah nodded. "I kind of feel the same. I don't like not knowing what's behind us, but I guess we'll have that problem no matter what. All right, same plan as before."

Rowan and Farima backed off through the Bhaal door, leaving it open. As their light faded with distance, the room became dim and Lythienne opened the Bane door. She looked down the corridor and sighed, "Ugh, more water. I guess there's no avoiding it."

They walked down the narrow corridor as it sloped down towards the water. Lythienne suddenly stopped so the others did as well. After a moment she turned to Pariah and whispered, "There is light ahead."

Pariah realized she could see it too. The corridor turned after it entered the water, and a dim light could be seen there. She went back to the others. "There is light ahead," she said. "Douse that," she nodded to Farima's staff, "and follow me." She led the women through the darkness into the dim light. Lythienne was already knee deep in the water, peering around the corner. When the others approached, she drew back. Pariah went to peer around the corner while she told them what she saw.

The near part of the room was unlit, flooded, and braced with floor-to-ceiling wooden columns. Straight ahead was a hallway that turned to the right, and another hall that exited the left wall. The room stretched out to the right. Rough-hewn steps rose out of the murky water on that side of the room, leading to a dry area lit by two torches in sconces that flanked a stone altar. Shackled to the wall behind the altar was a sickly man in a loincloth. An alcove in the wall to the side of the altar contained a free standing suit of plate armor missing its helm.

Standing in front of the altar were two grim figures with their backs to the rest of the room: a powerfully built woman clutching a mace, and an even bigger man wearing a bucket helm. The helmed man had a spear, and he was extending it over the alter to jab the prisoner, causing the man to twitch and moan. Both figures were clad in chain mail, and the woman carried a wooden shield with a leering skull painted on it. Pariah also spotted a longbow leaning on a wall and a quiver on the woman's back.

The others joined Pariah. Lythienne looked out into the room again. "We could probably sneak through to one of those tunnels in the darkness."

Pariah shook her head. "The water would ripple. Plus I'm not leaving that man to be tortured." Farima grunted agreement.

"Well, then," said Lythienne, "I've learned some minor magic that I use when I'm performing. Nothing spectacular, but I could probably distract them with an illusion. Get them to keep their backs to us while we attack."

Pariah nodded thoughtfully. "That could work. All right, go ahead."

While the rest of the group waited, Lythienne crept forward in the darkness until she was near a post. She stood still for a bit and then her mouth started to move. "Kneel before me, disciples!" a voice boomed from the altar.

The two figures jumped at the sound. "What the-" Pariah heard the woman say.

"You have brought me a sacrifice. Kneel and receive your reward." When the people hesitated, the voice boomed, "Kneel!"

They did so, bowing their heads before the altar. Lythienne waved the others forward and started to move through the water herself. Rowan mumbled, "Fortune favors the bold," and Pariah felt her spirits rise. As the group closed, the two cultists started to realize something was happening. As they turned, bolts of energy came from behind Pariah to slam into the woman, followed by the stab of Pariah's rapier. Pariah felt the dark energy course up the blade as the woman died.

The man leapt to his feet and stabbed at Pariah with his spear. The point didn't penetrate the light chainmail but it did leave a painful bruise. More bolts of energy peppered the man as both Rowan and Farima attacked, but they just seemed to veer around him. "I think the altar is interfering with our magic," said Rowan.

With the man distracted by Pariah, Lythienne came up behind him and hammered him with her fists. He turned toward her, but that gave Pariah an opening to wound him with her rapier. The two of them wore him down with their blows while bolts of energy from the other two continued to veer around him, unable to connect. Finally, Pariah heard Rowan growl, "Dammit, Tymora is stronger than Bane!" and a bolt slammed into his chest, finishing him.

The prisoner had watched the battle and his face lit up slightly as the second cultist fell. He opened is mouth but Pariah motioned for him to be quiet. They listened for any hint that their battle had alerted anyone else, but the stinking room was silent other than the drip of water. They all relaxed.

Pariah saw a ring of keys on the male cultist's belt. She took the keys and handed them to Lythienne, who happened to be standing closest to her. "Unlock his chains," she said quietly while she continued to search the cultists.

"Thank you," the man whispered as Lythienne came up to him. "Get me out of here and I'll see you are all richly rewarded."

"Look out!" Farima cried, and a bolt of energy flew from her staff. Pariah looked up to see that the gauntlets from the suit of plate armor against the wall had detached and were streaking towards Lythienne, who was intent on unlocking the prisoner's chains. She reacted instantly, dropping the keys and whirling to deflect one incoming gauntlet, but she took a heavy blow to her ribs from the other one.

The gauntlets flew around quickly but the group managed to smash them before they could hit anyone else again. Once more they hesitated, listening for sounds of alert, but heard nothing. "Wait," whispered Pariah. She investigated the armor but the rest of the suit seemed inert. She nodded at Lythienne, and the elf picked up the keys and unlocked the prisoner.

Rowan checked the prisoner while the others kept watch. She gathered the others a few feet from the prisoner to brief them. "He's injured and starving, but he'll be fine with a little bed rest," she reported. "He says his father is a patriar and will reward us for his return." She paused and continued in a lower voice. "But I'm pretty sure he's lying about that."

Pariah frowned. "So you're saying we shouldn't help him because he can't pay?" she asked in a testy whisper.

Rowan shrugged. "No, I'm just telling you my impressions."

"We should escort him back to the entrance," said Farima.

Rowan made an indecisive noise. "A freed prisoner might alert someone up there that we are up to no good. Maybe the masseuses aren't in on this, but someone might still be watching the bath house."

"I'm not going to leave him here," Pariah said. "And I'm not going to send him back alone."

"Take him with us?" said Lythienne. "If he stays out of the way he'll probably be fine until we get out of here."

They exchanged glances but there was a mumble of agreement. "Let's take some time to dress our wounds and his and then move on. I don't want anyone to see us here."

Rowan questioned the prisoner, whose name was Klim Jhasso, as she tended his wounds. "Yeah," he said. "I remember seeing a big bald guy. He went through that door over there." He pointed at the far end of the room to a wall hidden in shadow.

"When?" asked Rowan.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Couple hours ago? I'm really not sure. I've kind of lost track of time here. A bunch of other guys went through more recently though. Not too long before you guys got here."

"Other guys?"

"Yeah, a half dozen of those cultists. One of them, well, I mean they were in shadows but I'd swear his head was just a skull. Some kind of mask I guess."

Rowan and Pariah exchanged glances. "Yeah," Rowan said. "Probably a mask."

Klim furrowed his brow. "You know, it was funny. The big man doused his torch in the water before he opened the door. I didn't really notice it at the time. I had other problems. But then I saw the other guys did it, too. They put the torches out before opening the door."

"Any idea why?" Rowan asked. The man shook his head.

"Sewers sometimes build up gas," Pariah said. "I knew a crew that used the get around the city through the sewers. They said the gas was a real problem. They were always looking to buy magical light sources."

Rowan looked concerned. "How dangerous is it?"

"As long as we don't have an open flame, we should be fine. I mean you don't want to stand in a pocket forever. You'll get dizzy and pass out. But it's not actually poison. We'll just have to move through quickly."

Klim wasn't happy about their plan to have him tag along. He kept insisting that big rewards awaited them once they got him back home. The more he insisted, the more Pariah agreed with Rowan that he was lying. That didn't make him unworthy of rescue, and Pariah had to admit she would have lied if it meant getting out of a place like this, but it didn't sit well with her.

Before they left, they dragged the bodies into the water. Anyone who looked closely would see blood stains, but the dais had many blood stains already. In this dim light, the bodies wouldn't be obvious. Rowan also stopped to mumble a prayer and pour a vial of holy water over the altar to Bane. The water steamed as it touched the stone and Pariah felt like the air became less oppressive, though she knew that might have been her imagination.

Now ready, they moved into the cold water and towards the door the prisoner had pointed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I hated this chapter. Dungeon crawls are just boring and I found it hard to come up with a real story. I ended up having them beeline to Mortlock and skip a bunch of content, which in turn made the journey kind of low risk. On the other hand, taking a long rest either in or out of the dungeon would give the bad guys plenty of time to realize something was going on and prepare better defenses. Plus, lots of battles don't make for a good story.
> 
> That line about the altar interfering with their spells was just bad rolls on their Sacred Flames. The fact that cultists get advantage on saves make that spell not that useful.
> 
> Note, this chapter was originally called "A Secret Tunnel" but every time I'd read that, I'd hear
>
>> Secret tunnel!  
> Secret tunnel!  
> Through the mountain!  
> Secret, secret, secret, secret tunnel! Yeah!


	6. A Bold Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Friend or foe they must decide.  
>  Will wicked man be saved?  
>  Will valiant souls believe their guide?  
>  Obey the fiend depraved?**
> 
> * * *

At Pariah's suggestion, Farima did not reignite her staff as they approached the door. Pariah wanted to scout out the area past the opening first to see if anything was waiting before they announced their presence.

She and Lythienne went through the door first, their vision sharp in the darkness. It led into another flooded room, about fifteen feet across and twice that wide. The ceiling was supported by rotting wooden beams, one of which was noticeably sagging under the weight of the earth above. The room was empty save for some debris that had been pushed against the walls. To their left was a hallway that seemed to curve back in the direction they had come. Ahead of them was a hall that led deeper into the complex.

Pariah inhaled and the air felt heavy in her lungs. She wondered if that meant there really was gas or if she was just imagining it. Either way, there was no reason to stand around. Lythienne pointed at the two exits and shrugged. Pariah shrugged back and pointed to the one ahead. "That seems to lead deeper in, so I say try that." Lythienne nodded and headed in that direction.

Pariah stopped to turn to Farima. "Let us walk ahead and then I think it's safe to relight your staff."

The hallway turned, widened, and then turned again as it slanted up, finally taking them back out of the water. There were three doors on the right side of the hall that stretched before them, and another door in front of them where the hallway ended. That door had light leaking from under it while the other doors did not. After some discussion with Lythienne, they decided to check out the lit opening.

Lythienne pressed an ear against the door and after a few seconds slowly turned the handle. Light spilled out as the door opened, and Lythienne gave a small intake of breath when she saw what was inside. Pariah looked past her and felt her stomach turn. The walls and floor of the room were streaked with splashes of blood. The limp body of an elderly human man was dangling from chains set into the opposite wall and, as they entered, they saw the body of an elven woman hanging from the right wall. Both of the prisoners were covered in bloody gashes. In the middle of the room was a chair, a bloody whip draped over it, and a bucket of salt on the floor next to it.

There was a door in the left wall. Pariah motioned for Lythienne to check the door while she scanned the room. The others entered and Rowan immediately went to check on the prisoners. Klim stopped in his tracks when he came in and at first Pariah assumed he was shocked by the carnage. "Effinax," he said as he saw the body of the old man.

"You know him?" asked Pariah.

"Yes," he said, his voice numb with shock. "He is in charge of my father's caravans. I don't understand. He wasn't with me when I was abducted. Are they targeting us? Why? We have no money to give them." He suddenly looked guilty and met Pariah's eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "We aren't rescuing you for the reward."

Klim dropped his eyes. "My father really is a patriar," he said defensively. "It's just...well...business has not been good ever since he got sick. And my brothers are already fighting over what little inheritance there will be. I'm sorry. I just want to get out of here." His voice was shaking.

"I know," Pariah sighed. "We'll get you home. Do you know her?" She pointed to the elven woman.

Klim looked at her and shook his head.

"Whoever she is," Rowan said, examining her, "she's alive. Not by much, though." She looked over at Klim. "The other one is dead. I'm sorry."

Klim nodded gloomily. Pariah remembered the keys she had taken from the cultist and was pleased to discover that they unlocked the woman's manacles. They lowered her to the floor and Rowan started to pray over her. The woman's eyes opened and she jumped a bit when she saw the group standing over her.

"Not what I was expecting to see the next time I woke up," she said dryly. She sat up against the wall and looked them over. "Not that I'm complaining, but who in the Hells are all of you?"

"We are working with the Flaming Fist, investigating the attacks by the Dead Three," said Rowan. "We can escort you out of here once we finish what we came to do."

"And when is that going to be? I'm a little impatient to get away from the torture chamber."

"Well," said Lythienne lightly, "the exit is that way." She jerked her head at the door they had come in. "Somewhere."

The woman studied Lythienne for a bit. The prisoner said something in Elvish to Lythienne, who responded in the same language. The woman said something else and Rowan's eyebrows raised. "Rude!" she said.

The prisoner looked surprised and then chuckled. "Sorry. I have kind of a dark sense of humor."

"What did she say?" asked Pariah.

Rowan gave the woman a poisonous look, but said, "Never mind. Not important."

Pariah decided to drop it. "Did you see a big bald guy come through here?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah. Not sure how long ago. I was in and out of consciousness."

"And another group later?" asked Rowan.

The woman's face darkened. "Yeah. The guy with the skull head stopped to rub some salt in my wounds while he was passing through. Just for the fun of it, you know."

"Skull head," said Rowan. "Like a mask?" Her tone was not hopeful.

"No," said the prisoner. "Not like a mask."

"So these two," said Pariah, motioning to Klim and the dead prisoner, "were from the same patriar family. What about you?"

"Me? No. I work for the Oathoons, distributing beer and wine for them in the Lower City. That's where I got snatched."

"What did they want?"

She shrugged and then winced. "They hadn't started questioning me yet. They were just softening me up I guess. However they asked the other guy a lot of stuff about Jhasso family operations, so I imagine they were going to ask me about the Oathoons."

Rowan finished her ministrations and said, "Perhaps we should get moving."

The woman stood slowly, grunting a bit at the effort. "Are you sure I can't talk you guys into leaving?"

Pariah shook her head. "We have to find who's behind this."

The woman sighed. "Well, in that case, I'll tell you that several times I've heard a sound through that door." She pointed at the door they hadn't gone through yet. "Sometimes they leave it open if they are in a hurry. A scraping of stone on stone, followed by splashing footsteps, and then more stone on stone."

"Hidden door?" said Pariah.

"Probably. My name is Vendetta Kress, by the way."

"Pariah," the tiefling said. The others quickly introduced themselves and then Lythienne moved to the door. She listened and then slowly opened the door.

Pariah could see a short corridor that immediately turned right down some stairs. The corridor was lit only by the torch light from the torture room, and another light source from down the stairs. Lythienne crept forward and peered around the corner, quickly pulling her head back. She came back. "One guard," she whispered. "Kind of a strange place to be standing, just in the middle of the hall. Probably where the door is."

"Just one?" said Rowan, and Lythienne nodded. "Let's try this then. I can cloud his mind, convince him I'm a friend, and then we can question him." She caught Pariah's expression and said, "You don't agree?"

Pariah pursed her lips and said, "I don't like the idea of controlling people's minds."

"It's not like that," said Rowan. "He'll just think I'm a friend. I can't force him to do anything. It's like a magical lie."

Pariah thought about it and finally nodded reluctantly.

Rowan moved quietly down the hall and peeked around the corner. She mumbled something while she gripped her holy symbol and then, with a deep breath, stood and stepped out from cover. "Hi there," she said cheerfully.

A confused man's voice said, "Oh, uh, hi."

"I'm looking for Mortlock Vanthampur. Have you seen him?"

"Well, yeah. He's through here."

"Oh, good. My friends and I needed to speak with him about something." She beckoned the others forward.

Pariah came around the corner and saw a cultist standing at the bottom of the stairs, at a turn in the hall. His brow furrowed as he saw them. "You really shouldn't have any visitors here," he said in an unsure voice.

"It's okay," Rowan assured him. "Mortlock asked me to bring them to him. They are part of...well, I really shouldn't tell you, but I know I can trust you." The man, still looking puzzled, smiled at that. She continued as she walked towards him, "There's kind of a big thing in the works. It's going to really expand the organization's influence throughout the city. So he's just through here?" She motioned to the wall and the man nodded. "Great, then we'll just be on our way. Do me a favor, though. This is still supposed to be secret, so don't tell anyone we came through here. Okay?"

"Of course," the man said. He pushed on the wall and it pivoted away from him. "He should be just through there. Probably meeting with those other folks."

"They came through here, too?" Rowan asked, a little nervousness in her voice. "Good, good. We're all here then. Thanks for your help." She winked at him. "I'll be sure to tell everyone how helpful you've been." The man beamed as they all filed past him.

Past the door, the hall descended back into the water. They waded in and the light faded as Rowan pulled the door shut behind them, wishing the cultist well as she did so. Farima lit up her staff to reveal a wide, flooded corridor leading forward. They could see light ahead and as they advanced they sensed something else: the sounds of battle.

Lythienne and Pariah moved ahead. The wide corridor turned to the left after about fifty feet and they came around the corner to see it led into a wider, torch-lit room where a huge, bald man with a nasty burn scar on his face was in battle with two men, one whose head appeared be nothing but a bare skull. As they closed quietly, the bald man's club smashed into the cultist with the normal head, and he dropped into the water. Two other corpses were partially submerged in the area.

The skull-headed man moved to get position on the big man, but as he did, he spotted the others. "These reinforcements won't help you," he snarled. "The disciples of Bhaal will have your life, Mortlock." He dodged a blow by the big man and then darted away, sloshing through the water towards a set of stairs leading up.

The bald man turned to see the newcomers. He was badly wounded, but obviously still had a lot of fight in him. He looked confused, and then looked back and forth between them and the retreating man. "You aren't with him?" he asked the group in a gravely voice.

"We're not," said Pariah, her blade out.

The big man looked back but the skull-headed man had disappeared up the stairs. "I don't want to fight you," he said. He lowered his club. "I was betrayed. If you hadn't come along..." He shook his head. "I owe you my life."

The others had moved up to join Pariah and Lythienne. Everyone was still on guard. The man loomed over her, a tower of muscle and scars now decorated with blood, his own and that of his enemies. She lowered, but didn't sheathe, her rapier and the others also relaxed just a bit.

"You're Mortlock?" she asked.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"We're possibly here to rescue you," she said.

"Possibly?" he asked as his brow furrowed. "Who sent you?"

"Does it matter?" she replied.

"It does if it has anything to do with your decision whether or not to rescue me."

Pariah studied him. He seemed sincere. "We are here to stop the attacks from the Dead Three. If you are in charge of that, then we might have a problem."

Mortlock looked relieved and shouldered his club. "That? Hells, I'll help you with that. This place ran itself. I was sent to keep an eye on it, at least until those bastards betrayed me. Look, get me out of here and I'll give you two things that will help you stop them. First, their treasury is right there." He pointed. A short flight of steps led up out of the water to a raised dais holding four chests. "Take that and they are broke. It will be hard for them to continue operations until they can get more money. I'll even help you carry it out. Second, once we are out of here I'll tell you who's really behind this and how you can get an advantage against them. Deal?"

Pariah gathered the others a short distance away to talk, while keeping an eye on Mortlock. The two rescued prisoners watched nervously, both of them scanning the area for enemies. Mortlock said, "Look, we may not have much time. He's fallen back to the main gathering place, planning to make a stand. I'd rather not go after him. He's damn strong, stronger than me. He's going to come back when he realizes we aren't chasing him."

"I'm reluctant to trust this man," said Farima in a low voice. "He's clearly part of this, and the fact that a devil wants him alive compounds my suspicions."

"The fact that the cultists were trying to kill him speaks in his favor," observed Lythienne.

Rowan studied Mortlock. "This man doesn't exactly scream 'evil mastermind' to me. Bad guy, yeah. But killing him or hauling him in front of Zodge isn't going to stop the cult, and that's our real goal here."

Pariah was lost in thought. When she didn't speak, Farima said coldly, "I suppose you want to keep him alive for your master."

"He's not my master," she bristled. "But they're right. He's obviously not the one behind the Dead Three attacks. Agreed?"

Farima grumbled but said, "Yes, I agree."

"So we cut a deal and get the information we really need."

"And get out of this sewer," said Lythienne in disgust.

Three sets of eyes went to Farima. "Fine," she said. "I do not trust him, but we will accept his conditions. However, his information better be solid and useful or I _will_ take him to Captain Zodge to face justice."

The group broke up and Mortlock watched them expectantly. "We accept your offer," said Pariah.

"Great," he said. "Let's grab the treasury and get out of here."

The group followed him up the stairs. He flipped open each chest. At first it seemed like a fortune, at least until Pariah realized there was an awful lot of copper there. With the practiced eye of a scavenger she picked out two unlabeled bottles of red liquid with gold stoppers. She held them up and examined them. "What's this?"

Mortlock shrugged, but Farima took one and studied it, turning it back and forth to see how it flowed. Then she popped off the gold stopper and took a tentative sniff. "Fire breathing potions, I believe."

Pariah put the potions as well as the most valuable objects into two of the chests. "This is the best of it," she said. There was plenty of silver, gems, a porcelain dragon mask and a five-spired crown. That should all fetch a decent price, and it was a lot less to carry.

"Guys, we have company!" said Lythienne suddenly. The others looked to see the skull-headed man coming back down the stairs.

"Shit!" said Mortlock emphatically. He heaved up one of the chests. "We have to go. Now!"

Pariah said, "Lythienne, you go first. You two," she pointed at the prisoners, "with the big guy. Mortlock, protect them. They die, deal's off. You two," she pointed to Farima and Rowan, "get the other chest." She darted down the stairs and looked among the debris in the water.

"What about you?" Farima asked indignantly as she and Rowan each took one handle of the chest.

"I'm going to keep him from following us," Pariah said as she found her quarry: a burned out torch. "Let's go!" She fired a beam of icy energy at the advancing man. It struck him and, though it didn't seem to hurt him, the cold slowed his pace a bit.

They sloshed slowly through the knee deep water. It was like being in a nightmare, running but not progressing, but their pursuer couldn't run any faster than they could. They reached the secret door and Lythienne pulled it open. They hurried through to find the surprised guard.

"He's not one of us!" Rowan said to the man, pointing to the skull-headed cultist. "He's a spy sent by the Flaming Fist. Hold him off while we get help."

"You got it," he said firmly, setting himself in the doorway, mace at the ready.

The party heard combat behind them as they bolted up the stairs, around the corner and through the torture chamber. They heard the skull-headed man shouting, "Intruders! Intruders! Stop them or I'll sacrifice the bunch of you to Lord Bhaal." She heard a door open and many footsteps entered the corridor behind them.

Pariah was bringing up the rear and she could see Rowan and Farima were starting to struggle with the weight of the chest. "We just have to make it a little farther. Come on, almost there." Rowan shot her a look that was less than grateful, but didn't say anything over her panting.

They finally reached the door that led to the room with Bhaal's altar, and that's where Pariah stopped. "Keep going," she told the others as they passed through the door.

"What are you doing?" Rowan asked breathlessly, though she kept running.

"Slowing them down," she said. The others fled and the light from Farima's staff faded, leaving Pariah in darkness. She heard footsteps getting closer and her darkvision revealed the skull-headed man and four other cultists as they came into the room. She muttered a spell and the torch in her hand sparked to life. She threw it into the room and dashed out the door.

She heard someone start to yell, "Oh sh-" and then there was a thundering explosion behind her. The shockwave blew past her but, weakened by the turn in the hall, it just made her blue hair flutter. She heard the crash of earth behind her, which she hadn't expected. Sparing a glance at the rotting beams above her, she realized the structure wasn't all that stable. It was possible the whole thing was about to come down.

Pariah managed to catch up to the others. She got a questioning look from some of them, but just gave them a thumbs up as they ran. They heard voices of alarm down corridors they passed but they didn't slow down. They managed to reach the exit stairs without seeing anyone else and breathlessly climbed their way to freedom.

Lythienne pushed open the secret door into the massage room and a yelp of surprise came from the other side. The group made their way through the narrow opening and back into the bathhouse. The masseuse and a dwarven man desperately covering his nakedness with his long beard were both backed into a corner of the massage room, watching the group with wide eyes. "Morning," said Pariah cheerfully.

Now that they were out, the group slowed their pace. They made their way into the main bathhouse. The man who had been there was gone but the elderly gnome woman was still bathing, and watched with raised eyebrows as the motley group parade through the place. She caught Pariah's eye and said, "I guess you found your treasure after all."

Pariah gave her a look of mock surprise. "What are you talking about? We are just coming back from a massage." The gnome woman chuckled and sketched a salute.

They made their way outside and stopped at the fountain just outside the main entrance when Farima said, "Wait, I must take a brief rest. I think we are safe for a moment."

"We should be," said Mortlock as he put down the chest. "They wouldn't want to do something in public."

"Fine," said Pariah as she splashed some water from the fountain on her face. "So start talking."

Mortlock sat down on the edge of the fountain. "My mother is the one behind the Dead Three attacks."

"That much I figured out," said Rowan. "What I haven't worked out is why."

"She wants people to lose faith in the Flaming Fist. As the people grow restless, the city will stop paying the Fist, and they will leave the city. No one will be left to stop her from becoming Grand Duke. That's the second part of her plan. The first part was to send Ulder Ravengard to Elturel, knowing he would be lost with the city. Without a leader, the Fist would lose focus."

"Wait," said Farima. "Your mother knew what was to happen to Elturel?"

He shrugged. "She hinted as much, but I don't know how. And she said that Baldur's Gate will suffer the same fate: to be pulled down into the Nine Hells as some kind of sacrifice."

"And this is the scheme we have been drawn into by you," Farima said accusingly to Pariah.

"Hey, don't blame me," Pariah said, putting up her hands defensively. "Zodge is the one who put us on this path. And if-" She broke off as she looked at Mortlock. Maybe it would be best not to let him know that an archdevil was involved. "If my little friend was in on it, why would he have us interfering with it?"

"Let's have this discussion later," said Rowan sharply. To Mortlock she said, "You said you could tell us how to get the edge on your mother."

He nodded. "She's always hated me. Told me many times she'd kill me if she hadn't promised my father on his death bed to take care of me." He snorted. "Maybe she finally gave up on that promise. Or maybe it was one of my brothers, because they are up to their necks in this.

"She hates me, but she loves her other sons, and that's leverage. My oldest brother, Thurstwell, is sickly and seldom leaves our mother's estate. You couldn't get to him easily. He spies on the city with his imps. In fact, I'm sure he knows you are here." That remark caused them all to look around suspiciously as he continued. "She pays the Dead Three through my other brother, Amrik, who runs a money lending business out of a tavern called the Low Lantern. And that's my plan. You could kill Amrik, cutting off the money supply and the cult will break up for good. You get what you want, but she'll just find another way to strike at the city. If you really want to stop her, if you really want to save this vile city, a better plan is to kidnap him and use him as leverage to get to my mother at her villa and kill her." He shrugged. "Or negotiate with her, if killing makes you squeamish. Trade his life for some kind of end to her plans."

"Can you get us into your mother's house?" Lythienne asked.

He shook his head. Bitterly he said, "Unlike my brothers, I don't have a key. Fendrick has to let me in. The butler."

"Any other useful information?" Pariah asked.

Mortlock thought for a moment. "My mother used to manage the city's water and sewer utilities. That's how she knew about the tunnels below the bathhouse. She is the one who ordered the construction of the bathhouse to hide her operation there. I'm pretty sure there is something like this under the villa, though I've never been down there."

"Could that be a way in?"

He considered that. "Maybe. The sewers are a maze, though. It would be hard to find, and it's going to be well guarded. Honestly, I think Amrik as a hostage is going to be a more useful key than coming in through the sewers."

Further conversation was interrupted when dark clad figures vaulted over the wall around the courtyard. By the time the group had drawn weapons, they were backed against the fountain by five people in black leather armor wearing stylized dragon masks and flowing cloaks. They each brandished curved blades reminiscent of claws.

"Halt, strangers," one of them called out. "Hand over the Vanthampur thief and the treasure he stole and we'll let you live."

There was a pause and then Mortlock said, "Who the fuck are these guys?"

"They seem to be after you," said Pariah. "Where exactly did this treasure come from?"

"I don't know. From Amrik. Probably from my mother before that."

"How are we playing this?" asked Lythienne. "I'm tempted to give them what they want."

"No," said Pariah. "We said we'd get him out of here. I don't like going back on my word."

"You just want the power your master promised," said Farima.

"Frankly, yes. And I want the money, too. That's not the point. My word has value. What would Tyr think of you going back on your promises so easily?"

Farima shot her an angry side-eyed look but said nothing.

The masked man who had spoken before said, "Your time is up! Surrender that which is ours right now, or die at our hands."

Pariah grimaced. "Fuck this," she mumbled and lunged forward. The man she faced was expecting that. He dodged her thrust and slashed at her arm, cutting a shallow wound through the gap between her sleeve and her glove. The other strangers descended on the group, but Pariah had eyes only for the man in front of her. She fell into a defensive stance to hold off his strikes, and managed to score a wound against him when she saw an opening. The she heard Farima chant a spell and bolts of energy peppered the group of enemies, felling Pariah's opponent and one other, and wounding a third.

With her opponent down, Pariah turned to survey the group. The prisoners they had liberated had retreated behind the fountain, trapped between the fountain and the wall. Klim looked terrified; Vendetta looked annoyed. Everyone else on both sides showed fresh wounds, but her companions were worse off than the attackers. Mortlock was engaged with the man who appeared to be the leader, and was being harried not only by the leader's weapon but also by a spectral claw that flew around, finding opportunities to tear at him. The leader chanted a spell and chains of force appeared around Mortlock, but the big man just flexed with a roar and the chains shattered and disappeared. He slammed his opponent with a powerful blow, but took another wound in response. Mortlock didn't seem like he had much left in him.

Pariah came up beside the one fighting Rowan and was able to plunge her rapier into the man's side. The man fell, and Pariah felt the dark energy course up the blade and strengthen her. Rowan shot her a grateful look.

She turned when she heard a woman bellow. Out of the bathhouse charged the elderly gnome woman, stark naked, dripping wet and wielding a battle axe. She hacked a deep wound into the back of Farima's opponent and he fell, and then she turned and struck at the leader. He turned to parry the axe with his blade, but that gave Mortlock an opening. He brought his massive club down with a bone-crunching crack, and the last of the attackers crumpled down the bloodstained grass.

The old woman winced, growled something in gnomish, and grabbed at her hip. She dropped her axe and grabbed at Mortlock for support. "Help me to the bench, boy," she said.

She limped painfully over and lowered herself to the white marble bench nearby. The group watched her in a stunned silence. "Are you injured?" asked Rowan. There was blood on the old woman's body, but it didn't seem to be her own.

"Nah, I'm fine," she grumbled. "Damn hip went out about fifteen years ago. Still gives me trouble when I get too...ambitious." She looked at the bodies on the ground and spit. "Thought I'd seen the last of these idiots years ago."

"You know them?" asked Pariah.

"Tangled with them a while back. Some crazy cult that worships dragons. They attacked a town I was passing through. I helped fight them off, and then was part of the group that tracked them back to their camp. The whole thing turned out to be part of some big operation, and when the Council of Waterdeep got involved, I just took my profits and left. I wasn't about to get into that political nightmare. Figured I'd retire." She grinned at the group. "Turns out retirement is damn boring. Plus I can't hold onto money to save my life. So I still take jobs now and then. Teach the young folks how it's done."

"You’ve definitely still got some moves," said Mortlock approvingly.

Pariah popped open one of the chests and pulled out two of the gemstones inside. She held them out to the woman. The gnome eyed them. "I don't really need any payment," she said. Then she took the stones with a grin. "But I won't insult you by refusing. I'm Trif, by the way."

"Pariah," said the tiefling. The rest of the group introduced themselves and the woman nodded at each of them.

"You all better head off, then," she said. "I'm just going to sit here, enjoy the sun on my skin and wait a few minutes for my hip to feel better."

The group waved their goodbyes, grabbed the two chests and headed for the gate, leaving the naked gnome to sunbathe on a bench next to five corpses. Outside the gate, the streets were crowded as the midday traffic picked up. Rowan said, "Where to? I'd invite you all back to the temple, but I'm not sure that would be best while we have these chests."

"I have a place not too far off," said Lythienne. "We could talk there and decide our next step."

"I just want to go home," whined Klim.

"Yeah," said Vendetta, "I agree. I mean thank you all for rescuing us, but it's been kind of a long day."

"Farima, heal him," Rowan said, nodding at Klim. She turned to Vendetta, muttered a prayer and put her hand on the woman. A warm light enveloped her hand and Vendetta took a deep breath as the healing magic went through her.

"Thank you," the elf breathed. Farima did the same for Klim.

Pariah reached into her pouch and pulled out a few gold coins. She put them in Vendetta's palm and gave her an intense stare. "Escort him home, okay? You seem like you can take care of yourself. He doesn't."

Vendetta looked over at the wretched noble and then back at her. "Fine," she sighed. "But if his family gives a reward, I'm keeping it." She pursed her lips and said, "But seriously, thank you for rescuing us." She looked at Klim again but the man was still in shock. "I'm sure he feels the same," she said to the group. The two former prisoners headed down the street in the direction of the main gate to the Upper City.

"If you want nothing else of me," rumbled Mortlock, "I'll be on my way as well. I want to be as far from this city as possible before my brothers make another attempt. Or my mother gets her way and this city falls."

The group mumbled goodbyes, and he headed in the direction of the docks. Rowan turned to Lythienne and said, "Lead the way." Rowan and Farima took the handles of one chest while Lythienne and Pariah lifted the other.

The elf led them east into the twisting, narrow cobblestone streets of Heapside. They had walked only about a hundred feet when Pariah felt a dark coldness sweep into her. As it permeated her entire body, she found it hard to breathe and the world started to spin. She fell to all fours, the chest slamming to the cobblestones as she lost her grip. She was vaguely aware of a distant voice calling, "Pariah? Are you all right? Pariah?" Her breath formed a cloud of cold fog in front of her face and her fingers and toes went numb as the cold intensified. Her vision blurred.

And then, just as suddenly, it passed. The world came into sharp focus and Pariah was aware of her own shuddering breaths. Rowan was squatting in front of her, a concerned look on her face. "Pariah?" she said again. Rowan reached out to touch Pariah's cheek and then jerked her hand back. "Gods, your skin is like ice!" she exclaimed.

Pariah sat back on the cobblestones, her body shivering. She mumbled a spell and felt warmth spread through her body chasing off the bone-numbing chill. "I'm fine," she said with chattering teeth. She studied Rowan and saw her differently somehow, like her vision was suddenly sharper. She saw the look of compassion and worry, and it was genuine, but there was also something behind it. An emptiness. Resentment. Abandonment. Anger.

Pariah turned to look at Farima. The woman looked down at here with her usual distasteful expression, distrust radiating out her. And yet there was also a sense of concern there, a keen insight and thirst for knowledge, and also a hint of...guilt?

Finally she looked at Lythienne. She saw the same bright smile and cheerful demeanor she had seen before, but behind her eyes was a fatigue of sorts there, a spark of loneliness and loss, and also an elder wisdom. She realized the woman before her might be hundreds of years old; it was hard to judge the age of the elves.

"What is it?" Lythienne asked self consciously.

Pariah snapped herself out of it. "Nothing," she said. She stood as Rowan offered a helping hand. She felt the power inside was different, stronger but also changed. On instinct she drew her weapon. She held the rapier in front of her and as she watched, the blade began to frost and white mist rose from it. "I think Levistus has honored our deal," she said.

"And it is time to make another," said the voice inside her.

Pariah jumped, and then sighed as she sheathed her blade. "And what do you want this time?" she asked. The group gave her a confused look, and then they realized what was happening. Farima's face grew dark.

"You are destined for the villa of Duke Vanthampur. Inside that house is a small box of infernal origin." Pariah saw a vision in her mind: a six-inch cube made of dark metal and ivory inlays. On the outside, an intricate maze was carved into its surface. "Retrieve that box from its current owner."

"And do what with it?"

"Simply retrieve it. For now."

"And what do I get?"

"More power, of course. In particular that weapon you bear, the blade that was my first gift to you, will become a mighty tool in your continued service to me, and a fierce bane to the enemies you will face."

Pariah bristled. "I don't suppose you are going to tell me what the box is." Silence. "Or who Mortlock was? Or why you wanted him freed? Or what this has to do with the Dead Three, or the Vanthampurs, or Baldur's Gate?" Still nothing. She lowered her voice, not wanting to be overheard by the people passing by. "And is it true that Baldur's Gate could suffer the same fate as Elturel?" She grew frustrated as he continued to say nothing. "Are you the one who brought Elturel into the Hells?" she said. "Dammit, answer that question or you can fuck right off! I need to know that I'm not helping you destroy Baldur's Gate."

A long pause and then he said, "The fate of Elturel was not my doing. Nor is the imminent fate of your city. Obey me and you can save the citizens of both cities, over a hundred thousand souls that will not be sacrificed to the Hells. Is that enough incentive, little mortal?"

"Then who is behind this?" Once again, there was nothing but silence.

Pariah turned her focus back to the others. "He says there is some kind of fancy metal box in the duke's house that he wants us to get. For now he just wants us to get it; I'd guess he'll want us to do something with it later. And he says he wasn't behind Elturel, but it has been brought down to the Hells, and this city is headed there next." She hesitated and frowned. "He claims that listening to him will save Baldur's Gate." They all exchanged glances. "Yeah, I know," she said. "They don't lie but they do mislead. I'm just telling you what he said."

Rowan made a thoughtful noise. "If it was one of the other archdevils, then that might make sense. They often work against each other."

"You know I am against helping the schemes of this malevolent entity," said Farima sharply.

"Yeah, I'm not a fan of the idea either," said Rowan.

"What if he's telling the truth about Baldur's Gate. Would you let them all burn?" Pariah asked. Farima grimaced but didn't answer.

Lythienne said, "We are headed to the villa anyhow, right? Funny how he keeps directing us to the path we are already on."

Pariah rubbed her arms briskly, most of the cold gone now. "Look, let's get this off the street," she said, motioning to the treasure chests. "We can debate this at Lythienne's."

Farima clenched her jaw but then nodded. They picked up the chests and continued through the crowded streets of Heapside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lythienne has been composing a lyric poem to document their adventures. I'm putting a stanza at the beginning of each chapter. I've gone back and added verses to each previous chapter as well.
> 
> For this chapter, I probably should have added another fight before Mortlock, but I wanted to rush through this one. I thought about having them face the death's head with Mortlock's help, but I prefer the way it played out here. Overall, after a lot of work, I'm happier with these last two chapters than I thought I'd be.
> 
> Reality note: contrary to what the module states, natural gas does not smell like rotten eggs. That's something that is added by gas companies so customers can smell gas leaks. I know some people roll their eyes when talking about reality in a game of magic and monsters, but you still have to observe some kind of rules or it's just random shit happening for no reason, and frankly that's lazy writing. I agree the players should get a warning, but I liked my warning better. In lieu of that, how about a sign on the door saying to douse torches?
> 
> I changed Vendetta's species because there are already too many tieflings in this module. I prefer them to be very rare. It's not the last time I'll tweak on race or gender to suit my whims.
> 
> Originally I had planned for them to be more beaten up upon exiting and forced to give up the treasure to the dragon cultists, but then I realized the cultists were also there to kill Mortlock so wouldn't just take the money and run. Besides, who doesn't love a battle scene that ends with an old, wet, naked gnome woman wielding a battle axe? She was a randomly generated NPC I threw in to populate the bathhouse, but the scar on her back implied she was an adventurer of some kind. The way she bonded with Pariah spontaneously came out of the writing so I could see her lending a hand. Again, I like badass women.
> 
> I've added a list of resources I used while writing this fic to the Author's Notes in Chapter 1. They might be useful to anyone else writing D&D fics or running games.
> 
> Finally, if you want a glimpse into Farima's past, I've posted a separate story in response to a writing prompt: [A Deadly Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903905).


	7. A Painful Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Beside the docks a tavern lies,  
>  Inside a crafty man.  
>  To seize the key to devil's prize  
>  The four concoct a plan.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

The streets of Heapside were bathed in the cool light of predawn as Pariah and Rowan walked the cobblestones. Lamplighters were moving down the street, using their long pole to douse the wicks of the lanterns that poorly illuminated the dangerous nighttime streets. The streets were starting to wake up as people unbarred their doors and unlocked their shutters so they could start their workdays.

The waking sounds of the city washed over Pariah to the point she didn't really hear them. Well, that's not true. She knew to listen for sounds like footsteps coming up behind her or the sound of a blade whispering out of a sheath, but most of the sounds faded into the background. Perhaps that's why she didn't notice the sound of the pipes at first.

They turned a corner and saw Lythienne's townhouse ahead. As they neared, Rowan slowed down. Pariah gave her a questioning glance, wondering if Rowan had sensed danger, but the priest was looking off into nothing. Her head was cocked slightly. "Do you hear that music?" she whispered.

Pariah listened and heard the melody of a pan pipe. She turned her head to locate it and realized it was coming from Lythienne's home. They approached the door slowly, neither of them wanting to interrupt the song. It was a slow, sad melody that was every bit as beautiful as the voice she had heard that night in the Elfsong Tavern.

As the sun rose over the horizon, the two of them stood there, intently listening to the music. Eventually the tune ended and they waited in silence to see if there would be more. A voice from inside the townhouse called out, "Why don't you two come in instead of standing awkwardly outside my door?"

Rowan chuckled and pushed the door open. "Sorry," she said as they entered Lythienne's home. "We didn't want to interrupt you. That was delightful." She paused. "Well, maybe delightful is the wrong word. Beautiful, but very sad."

Lythienne put down the pan pipes she had been playing and motioned for them to sit. Farima was already there, a cup of tea in her hand. "Those pipes won't play happy music anymore," Lythienne said as she started pouring tea for the two newcomers. "I play them when I miss my husband, Quinn, and I try to play something bright, but it always comes out like that."

She handed cups to Pariah and Rowan and resumed her seat. Farima said, "Forgive me. When I asked you to play, I had no idea the instrument was associated with such sorrow. Is your husband...?" She trailed off.

"Dead," Lythienne said matter-of-factly. From her tone, Pariah surmised it had been a long while. "The pipes were a gift from him for our fortieth wedding anniversary. I would always play happy music with them, inspired by the joy I felt in our relationship." She looked wistful. "He died not too long thereafter. He was human. You humans lives such short but full lives. That was one of the things I loved about him: his vibrancy."

"And that was when the pipes stopped playing happy music?" Rowan guessed.

"No," Lythienne said. "I mean you'd think so, but no. I'd play cheerful tunes when I was sad about him. The melancholy music didn't happen until after my brother died. His death was..." A shadow crossed her face. "Well, that's a longer story than I think we have time for right now," she finished apologetically.

Gravely, Farima said, "I understand. My sister died when she was young." Pariah felt a sense of guilt radiating from her as she said that. Almost to herself, Farima said, "Losing a sibling is difficult."

"Anyhow," Rowan interceded, trying to change the subject, "Let's talk about the Low Light."

It had been four days since their foray in the tunnels under the bathhouse. They had taken that time to rest, alternating between staying at Lythienne's townhouse in the Lower City, and Farima's lodgings in Little Calimshan. Although that meant accommodations were cramped, they reasoned that, with as many as three cults possibly hunting them, it was best to stay together most of the time. Rowan hadn't wanted to strain the charity of the temple, and Pariah still hadn't settled anywhere permanent since her separation from the Forgotten.

Pariah had been using this time to experiment with the new power she had been granted. In particular, she had been working to perfect new magic that allowed her to change her appearance. Lythienne and Rowan had similar abilities. For Lythienne, she had learned it as an entertainment skill, enhancing her storytelling by becoming the character she was describing. Rowan had learned it as a priest of a trickster god. Both of them had helped Pariah understand what she could do with it.

This new spell had an unexpected side effect: it forced Pariah to look at herself for the first time in her life.

Growing up in abject poverty, vanity hadn't been a high priority. She had seen her reflection before, and certainly she was aware she didn't look like the other girls, but it hadn't really mattered. There is a sort of brutal equality in destitution. When you haven't eaten in several days, you don't really care about this guy's skin color or that woman's horns. People cared more who your friends were, what crew you ran with, and if you could be trusted.

Now, in an effort to understand this magic, she had to look at herself closely in the mirror and it made her realize how much she had changed after her pact with Levistus. It wasn't just the writing on her body. She had been able to feel that her face was different, her devilish features more pronounced, her horns a bit longer, her canines sharper. However, she hadn't realized that her eyes had changed. She had been shocked when she saw the dead black orbs staring back at her. They hadn't been like that before. They had been human eyes, blue if she remembered correctly, but not these balls of darkness set in her skull. Seeing that had shaken her. It seemed the price for this contract kept adding up.

She and Rowan had made an overnight reconnaissance run to the Low Lantern, both of them disguised by their magic. The intent had been to gather information in the hopes that the four of them could form a plan for how to move forward.

"The tavern used to be a merchant ship," said Pariah. "The main deck doesn't have much other than dead seagulls. A _lot_ of dead seagulls."

"We thought it was strange," said Rowan, "and the staff says it's been an ongoing mystery. I looked at the bodies and they'd clearly been stung to death. My guess is that Thurstwell has an imp watching the place; imps can turn invisible. That's something to consider."

Pariah continued. "The first deck beneath is the tavern: bar, tables, gambling, bouncers. The owner is called the Captain and she hangs out here with her pet crab." That got puzzled looks from Farima and Lythienne. Pariah shrugged. "Yes, I said 'pet crab'. There's a guarded door in the back, not sure where that leads to."

She continued. "The second deck is a lounge, quieter and more spread out than the main bar. This is where Amrik has his business. He has a section of it and he waits for people to approach him for loans. He has two bodyguards: a human and...something else."

"It's some kind of fiend," said Rowan. "It's small, smaller than a human child, with a tail and wings. It's covered with fine spikes."

Farima mulled that over. "It sounds like a spined devil. It's a lesser fiend, a sort of errand boy of the Hells. Don't be fooled by its size, though."

Pariah said, "I was afraid it would be able to see through our disguises, but I don't think it did. At least it didn't seem to be watching us any more than it did the others in the tavern."

She took a sip of her tea. "The lowest deck is leaky and smells awful, and that's coming from a girl from the slums. It's nothing more than a place for drunks to sleep it off. There doesn't seem to be anything down there."

"What was your take on Amrik himself?" Lythienne asked her. She had told them about her new insight into people's characters and emotions, after which she had detected they all became uncomfortable around her.

Pariah's brow furrowed. "I didn't talk to him directly. I didn't want to get that close. I asked about him a bit but didn't get much." She thought about it. "Oily. Can't be trusted. But he's a talker not a fighter. He depends on his guards. He'll run or surrender rather than fight." She shrugged. "At least that's my guess."

"Do you think he could be convinced to help us?" Farima asked stiffly. She had argued against the plan of kidnapping him from the beginning.

"Maybe. If he saw a profit in it. I think he'd betray his mother, if that's what you're asking, but I'm not sure what we have to offer him. Even the money from the cultists wouldn't mean much to the son of a duke."

Farima looked unsatisfied. "You three have proposed we abduct him, and I've made no secret that I am against that plan. Your counter argument is that he is not a good man, does not deserve gentle treatment. Perhaps that is something we can use against him. If he has been indulging in criminal enterprises, we can find evidence and blackmail him into helping us."

"Finding evidence will take time," Rowan observed. "If Mortlock had stayed in the city, he might be able to help us, but he's gone. And every day we delay, the cultists kill more people in the city."

"Besides," said Pariah, "his mother is a duke. She will make sure any charges against him don't stick."

Growing increasingly frustrated, Farima said, "Let us tell Captain Zodge what we have learned. The Flaming Fist can pursue Duke Vanthampur, prove that she is behind this. Let justice prevail."

"She will still use her position to stop Zodge. Mortlock told us she's trying to make people not trust the Flaming Fist." Pariah leaned back in her chair. "Look, Farima, if the law was going to work here, Zodge wouldn't have hired us. He would have handled this already. He brought us in because he knows we'll have to get creative."

"Plus, if we get into trouble while being creative, his hands will be clean," Lythienne observed.

Pariah nodded. "That, too. Farima, you say 'let justice prevail'. I agree with you. But justice isn't coming from the law today. People are dying in the streets and we can stop that. And if we have to get bloody doing it, then that's what we do. Because in the end, that's what's important: doing what's right no matter the cost."

Farima's expression had softened and she said, "Yes, I agree. We must-" Suddenly she frowned and her eyes flashed. "Are you using your devil's sight on me? Telling me what I want to hear?"

"No!" said Pariah. "Well, sort of. Look, I can't control it. I see what I see. But I'm not wrong. And I'm not lying. I just want to stop innocent people from being murdered, and if that means I have to rough up some scumbag moneylender who has his thugs break people's legs for the crime of being poor, and then runs to mommy when he gets into trouble, then I'm okay with that." She heard her voice rising and made a point of taking a breath. More calmly she said, "If you have another plan, a real plan not a complaint, then let's hear it."

Farima continued to glare but said, "No. I do not."

"Then," Rowan interjected, "let us discuss how we will approach Amrik."

Pariah knew Farima needed a concession. "I'm willing to talk to him," she said. "Maybe we have an advantage we don't know about. Maybe he wants to work against his mother. Maybe he hates his mother as much as Mortlock did. Maybe we can convince him just to introduce us to her and we can take it from there." Farima looked skeptical so Pariah added, "I'm happy to avoid a fight. If we can get him to help us, great. But if not, we all need to be prepared to do what needs to be done. Agreed?"

Farima studied her for a bit, and then said reluctantly, "Agreed."

"Are we all on the same page now?" Rowan asked. Farima nodded. "Good. Then how do we want to handle this. Pariah, you said you will talk to him. I feel like all four of us approaching him will make him nervous."

"I agree," Pariah said. "And there is seating for only two people in his area anyhow."

"So two of us arrive early and take seats in the lounge. You and one other approach him to talk to him. If necessary, we attack. Lythienne, I was thinking you could take a seat near the steps going up. There is a table there. If he tries to run, you can trip him up. Farima, you sit at the bar." She paused. "Order a real drink, even you don't drink it. It will be too suspicious if you order water."

Farima looked offended. "I drink alcohol," she said defensively. "Just not as much as others do. I'm quite capable of ordering a ’real drink'."

"Fine," Rowan said apologetically. "No offense meant. Pariah, I can come with you and we can talk to him."

"Do we want to be in disguise again?" Pariah asked.

Rowan mulled that over. "No, I don't want to waste the magic on that. We'll go as ourselves."

"I have a thought," piped up Lythienne. "Is the tavern the best place to go after him? It's going to be his home turf. He has his bodyguards. I don't think the bouncers will intervene, but he might have surprises. Would it be better to follow him after he leaves and ambush him on the road?"

Pariah said, "No, Rowan and I talked about that. The streets are less controlled. He has a thousand escape routes. From the tavern lounge he has only one way out. It's easier to box him in."

She nodded. "Okay, that makes sense."

Rowan said to the group, "Well, when do we want to do this? He's generally there from late afternoon until after midnight. The place is less crowded during the day. I'm not sure if that will help or hurt us."

"Night," Pariah said firmly. "The streets are too crowded during the day. If we end up marching him to his mother's estate and using him as a hostage to get us to her, it's going to be easier for him to slip away in the daytime crowds."

"In that case," Rowan said with a stretch, "how about if you and I get some sleep." They had been up all night at the Low Lantern, and Pariah felt the fatigue dulling her senses. "We can head over there tonight and see what we can see."

* * *

It was well after sunset, and the street lamps created dim pools of light in the darkness of the Eastway district. Distant sounds of taverns and other night businesses could be heard, but the street that Pariah and Rowan walked was quiet. Rowan's lantern lit up the area and they kept sharp eyes out for the less savory denizens of the Lower City nights.

Pariah slowed as she saw a figure come out of the shadows ahead, moving under one of the streetlights and stopping there. He was a middle-aged black man, lean but strong, with dark, curly hair. He wore light armor and carried a staff. He fixed Pariah with a stare. "Defend yourself, demon!" he called out.

Rowan put her hand to her dagger but Pariah held out a hand. "Stay out of this," Pariah said. "This is personal." She dropped the sack she was carrying, which fell to the ground with a muffled, metallic clank. Her rapier whispered out of its sheath and she advanced towards the man.

He waited for her to approach, falling into a ready stance as she grew near. His staff lashed out with surprising speed, but she deflected it with her rapier. He shifted his weight and struck again, but she was ready and dodged that blow as well. He feinted to her left and she moved to parry the real blow, but he surprised her when that turned out to be a feint as well. The staff poked her hard in the chest and she stumbled. He whipped the staff around, swept her legs out, and she landed hard on her ass on the cobblestones.

"Talona's _tits_!" she said with feeling. "I thought I had it that time."

The man chuckled and reached down to help her to her feet. "Your footwork is still shit," he said. "You need to have your dancer friend teach you some moves."

"Ha ha," she said, rolling her eyes. She punched him in the arm. "And, hey, I don't like that 'demon' shit!"

He looked contrite. "Sorry. I was in the moment. How about 'goat-girl'?"

"How about 'fuck you'," she grinned. She turned to Rowan, who was watching them with bemusement. "This is Char Morningfall," she said, motioning to the man. "He's one of my sparring partners at Garmult's. And this," she nodded at Rowan, "is Rowan Winesilk, priest of Tymora."

Char gave her a respectful bow. Rowan gave an uncertain smile. "Uh, nice to meet you...I guess? Do you always ambush people in the street?"

"Not as a rule," he grinned. "I just saw her coming and figured she could use a refresher. Let me make it up by buying you both a round. I'm headed to Garmult's now."

The gladiator school doubled as an alehouse at night. Pariah was tempted but said, "Thanks, but no. I've got some business right now. I'll come by another night."

He clapped her on the shoulder. "Sounds good. Bring all your friends. I'd love to meet the rest of your crew."

"We'll do that," she said. They said their goodbyes and she and Rowan resumed their trip to the Low Lantern. Pariah rubbed her ribs. "Ow," she said.

"Are you okay?" Rowan chuckled.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'd rather he hadn't pulled that tonight, but it's just a bruise."

In another few blocks, the street opened up into a view of the harbor, or at least a view of the fog that cloaked the harbor at the moment. Many of the docked ships were lit up and the yells of the longshoremen peppered the other sounds of the sea. Pariah felt her senses sharpen. Ever since the night of the sahuagin attack, she always got nervous near the water.

They walked down the wharf into the thick fog until the shape of an aging, three-masted merchant ship loomed up out of the mist. The ship was rigged but had no sails, and the heavy chains that anchored it to the wharf made it clear this ship was not going anywhere. At the bow of the ship, a lantern cast an eerie green light, a universal symbol throughout the city that an establishment was open. Pariah and Rowan mounted the rough wooden staircase that climbed from the wharf's edge to the main deck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to start at the Low Lantern, but then I realized that not enough happens there to make the story interesting. I decided to add the scene at Lythienne's house to get a bit of character exposition, and the duel in the street just fell naturally out of the writing when I realized they were passing close to Garmault's on the way to the Low Lantern.


	8. A Wily Hostage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Below the deck a man attends  
>  And gives with greedy hands.  
>  Into the lounge the group descends  
>  To serve him with demands.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Pariah noticed two dead seagulls on the deck, different ones than the three they had seen the previous night. Each morning the crew tossed the bodies overboard, and each night they found more. No seagulls flew in the night sky, but Pariah noted two ravens on the lookout perch, watching them with sharp eyes. They had been there the last time, so the crow's nest had apparently become a literal crow's nest.

She led the way down the stairs to the first of the lower decks, the main tavern. The evening was early enough that, although business was picking up, the tavern wasn't as crowded as it would be in a couple of hours. There were four tables and an L-shaped bar; only about half the seats were filled. A middle-aged human woman with red hair and a crab perched on her shoulder eyed them from the short end of the bar.

Pariah headed towards the stairs the led down to the lounge. The woman at the bar called out, "Well met! I don't think I've seen you here before." Her tone wasn't suspicious, just curious.

Remembering they had been under personal illusions before, Pariah nodded. "Yes, first time," she confirmed.

The woman said, "My name is Larelra Thundreth, but folks around here call me the Captain. If you're thirsting for a beverage or looking to gamble, you've come to the right place, but watch your step. Things can get pretty messy around here."

"We'll be careful," said Rowan with a polite smile. They headed downstairs. The lounge was windowless, lit only by the oil lamps that hung from the ceiling on chains. In addition to the patrons, three burly bouncers stood around the periphery, watching the room.

Four small two-person tables decorated the fore end of the lounge deck. Lythienne sat at one of them sipping wine and casually watching the room. They didn't acknowledge each other. At another table sat a cloaked figure, a man Pariah guessed from his build. His gloved hand gripped a tankard of ale.

There was a larger table closer to the center of the deck, and another L-shaped bar staffed by a birdlike kenku bartender. Farima was there with her own mug of ale. A hint of shimmering cloaked her body, a sign of the mage armor she could summon. This was a dangerous city, and the shield was no more suspicious than the more traditional armor most of the patrons wore. Also at the bar was a male human sailor who was well into his cups, and a tough looking man with a red ponytail whose sleepy eyes scanned the room. The latter, Pariah knew, was one of Amrik's bodyguards.

Near the bar was a pair of couches facing a coffee table. Sitting next to each other on one couch, a pair of drow awkwardly sipped their drinks and whispered to each other. At the aft end of the ship was another pair of couches with a coffee table, and sitting there was their quarry. Amrik lounged back on the couch facing the bar, his feet on the table. His black hair and beard were well groomed, and his dark leather armor looked expensive. His eyes swept the room, resting momentarily on the two newcomers. Next to him, perched on the back of the couch, was a grotesque purple humanoid covered in spines. Its leathery wings were wrapped around it and its tail hung down behind the couch. It also studied the newcomers with its red eyes, its gaze distinctly more predatory than its master's. Its clawed hands gripped a barbed, two-pronged military fork.

Most of the people on the deck looked over the newcomers and then went back to their drinks. The only eyes that stayed on them were those of Amrik and the spined devil.

Pariah led Rowan over to Amrik and they both sat on the couch in front of him. Pariah put the sack she was carrying on the floor next to her. "Good evening, my friends," Amrik said with a slick smile, eyeing the sack. "How may I help you?"

"We have some business to discuss," said Pariah.

"Wonderful," he said. "Let us begin our business discussion with refreshments." He looked towards to the bar and held up three fingers. The bartender nodded and started pouring drinks. Amrik slicked his hair back, folded his arms and said, "And how much would you like to borrow?"

Pariah shook her head. "That's not the kind of business we mean. We need to meet with your mother and want your help getting to see her."

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid you've confused me with her personal secretary. I suggest you go knock at her door. Her butler will be happy to schedule an appointment."

He didn't seem surprised by her request. Amused maybe, but not surprised. Pariah said, "Our business is urgent. We feel you would be able to get us in front of her quickly so we can discuss something with her."

"What kind of something?"

"That is for the duke only. If she wants you to listen in, that's her choice, but for now all I can do is tell you it's important we meet with her quickly."

He studied her, still looking amused. "And why should I do this?"

It occurred to her to threaten him, but she decided to take a different path. "Would twenty gold suffice? It seems like a generous fee to get us inside the duke's villa."

"Fifty," he said.

Pariah pursed her lips. "Thirty."

"Forty."

"Thirty five."

"Done," he smiled as the kenku showed up with a tray. As the bartender lay the three wine glasses down on the coffee table, Amrik said, "Let us toast our deal."

Pariah was surprised when Farima came up as soon as the bartender had left. "One moment," she said as Amrik reached for his glass. "We have an old Calishite custom." She swapped his glass with Pariah's. "A gesture of trust between business partners."

His face didn't change but Pariah caught a hint of annoyance in his attitude. Smoothly he said, "I'm wounded that you would imply I cannot be trusted. Besides, I serve my guests better wine than I drink myself. I wouldn't want you to have to drink the swill that I enjoy."

Farima picked up the glass in front of him, the one that had been Pariah's. She held it out to him and demanded, "Drink!" Pariah shivered as Farima said the word, sensing the magic behind it.

Amrik hesitated and his eyes glazed over a bit. He reached out to take the glass from Farima, raised it to his lips, and then stopped. His eyes cleared and he angrily dashed the wine into Farima's face as he leapt to his feet. "Kill them!" he snapped to his bodyguards as he drew his dagger. With lighting speed he stabbed at Farima multiple times, punching through her magical shield like it was paper. Farima staggered back with a gasp as blood started to stain her clothing. She knocked aside his arm with her staff and ran away, diving behind the couch with the drow for cover. The devil fired several spines at her that burst into flame as they shot through the air, but the spines embedded in the couch, inches from the male drow, leaving scorch marks on the fabric.

"Watch it!" shouted one of the bouncers. "You know the rules!"

The redheaded guard was drawing his mace as he slid off his barstool, but he didn't see Lythienne moving up silently behind him. She pummeled him with blows as quick as Amrik's had been and he turned to face her. She moved with her usual grace, but he managed a glancing blow against her forearm. As he did, he took a magical bolt from Rowan in his back that distracted him, allowing Lythienne to land a powerful kick that knocked him to the ground, unmoving.

Meanwhile, Pariah had drawn her rapier, which gave off a cold white mist as her power flowed into it. She stabbed at Amrik and he didn't turn in time to block the blow. He gasped as the cold blade found a seam in the armor and sank into his side. He struck rapidly at her and she was able to parry most but not all of his blows. His dagger point stabbed into her chest and, though it didn't break through the chain, it left a deep bruise underneath. The pain triggered a blast of cold energy that surrounded him and frosted his own leather armor. Pariah saw an opening and struck again, scoring another wound in her opponent.

Her attention was focused on him but she was aware of the battle going on behind him. The other three had focused on the small devil and she heard it shriek as it finally succumbed to the damage from multiple sources. She felt the change in Amrik's attitude when it did. He twisted to avoid Pariah's next blow, darted past Rowan and dashed for the stairs.

"You would run, coward?" Pariah called after him. "Come back and face me with honor!"

It was a trick she had discovered during her sparring matches, something new among her gifts from Levistus. It wasn't a true charm like the prayer that Rowan had used in the tunnels below the bathhouse, just a sort of enhanced taunt. Her opponents had told her they simply felt an anger towards her, a strong desire to defeat her in single combat. It didn't always work but...

Amrik froze in his tracks. He turned, eyes flashing, and charged back with a bellow. She parried his blows and he avoided hers. The others stayed back; a side effect of this particular challenge was that if anyone else joined her, the impulse for single combat would be broken. The two of them dueled for a bit, neither managing a hit, until finally Amrik threw down his dagger. "Enough!" Amrik said, showing his open hands. "I give up. What do you want?"

Pariah glanced around the bar, the point of her blade at Amrik's throat. Most of the guests were nowhere to be seen; presumably they had fled upstairs. The drunk sailor was still on his stool, half slumped over, apparently unaware a fight had been going on. The kenku bartender peeked over his bar now that things seemed to be over. The bouncers in the corner had withdrawn to cover and were watching them carefully with weapons drawn.

"Was the wine poisoned?" she asked.

Before he could answer, Farima said, "I saw the bartender put something in the drinks. That is why I intervened."

"What was it?" Pariah asked Amrik.

He shrugged. "A harmless...medication. It would have simply put you to sleep. Look at the bright side: you would have met my mother after all, just from a prison cell."

"Why? You had no reason to mistrust us."

Amrik laughed. "Do you think I don't know who you are? Multiple witnesses saw the crowd that left the bathhouse with my worthless brother. A crowd that included a tiefling."

Pariah felt stupid; of course he would have recognized one of her kind. She should have come in disguise after all. "We still need to meet with your mother."

"Very well," he said with resignation. "I believe we settled on thirty-five gold?"

Pariah raised her eyebrows. "That was the old deal, before you tried to poison us. The new deal is we don't kill you. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes," he said in a resigned tone. "I suppose it will have to do."

Pariah sheathed her sword and stepped back to pick up the sack she had brought. She tossed it to him. "Put those on."

He opened the bag and looked inside. He looked back at her. "Really? How...discourteous of you."

"Put them on," she repeated.

Amrik dumped the bag and iron manacles clanked out onto the floor. He put one set on his ankles and the other on his wrists. Pariah checked them to be sure they were locked securely. She also retrieved Amrik's dagger from the floor, and took his coin pouch from his belt. She withdrew a few coins and left them on the bar. She turned to see Rowan tending to Farima's wounds. The Calishite looked pale and shaky, so Pariah decided they needed to take a rest before heading to the villa. She tossed a few more coins on the bar, ordered a round of drinks and snacks while Rowan continued to work. Farima looked much better once Rowan was done. Pariah waved her off; her injuries were minor. She'd learned to shrug off that kind of damage at the gladiator school. Lythienne had a nasty bite she'd gotten from the spined devil, but it wasn't poisoned so Rowan mumbled a quick prayer to stop the bleeding and they were ready to go.

Throughout this, Amrik tried to negotiate for his freedom. Pariah finally just started ignoring him. She kept an eye on the stairs in case any reinforcements came, but other than a couple more patrons, nobody else came down. The bouncers asked Amrik what he wanted done with the corpse of the human bodyguard, and he just shrugged disinterestedly so they dragged them upstairs. Pariah guessed they'd end up in the water. She looked around and didn't see the body of the devil, but did see a puddle of black goo on the ground where it had been.

Once the group was patched up, they headed up the stairs single file and came out on the tavern deck. They owner eyed them with a frown. She rose from her stool and moved to stand in their path. "What's the problem here?" she asked.

"My lovely Laraelra," said Amrik smoothly. "Have you come to rescue me?"

She snorted. "Of course not," she said. "I have no doubt you deserve whatever is happening to you." She looked at the manacles and then the rest of the group. "Again, what's the problem?"

Pariah remembered her Flaming Fist badge. She took it out and flashed it at the owner. "City business," she said.

Laraelra frowned. "Is he coming back?"

Pariah shrugged. "He is the key to a door, nothing else. If he cooperates, then he'll be back to ripping off his customers tomorrow night. If not, well, that's on him, not us." She said that to Amrik as much as Laraelra.

The tavern owner studied her. "Very well. But he's a business partner of sorts. If he dies, it cuts into my profits." Her eyes narrowed. "That would make me cranky."

"Understood," said Pariah. The woman moved out of their way, and the group headed up the stairs and out onto the main deck.

Amrik looked up at the ravens in the crow's nest and made a disgusted noise. The birds took flight, and as soon as they did he shouted "Shoo!", waving his hands at them with the clank of manacles. "Stay away, you filthy things." The birds circled twice and then returned to their roost, eyeing the group with cocked heads. "Shall we head for my mother's villa now?" he asked Pariah.

Pariah was too busy scanning the area for other enemies to care about his dislike of birds. The surroundings seemed clear so she turned to him and said, "Here are the rules. If you run, call for help or try to trick us, bad things will happen you. If you prove useful, we'll let you go. Got it?"

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "It's not a complicated relationship." She shoved him forward and they headed into the foggy streets. Rowan led the way, her lantern illuminating their path, though they couldn't see far in the mist. Farima and Lythienne flanked the prisoner, and Pariah walked behind.

They walked the street along the edge of the harbor. The harbor itself was busy like it had been when they arrived. The streets were mostly quiet, with the occasional shadowy figure watching them from doorways and alleys, but a well armed group like them weren't likely to have trouble. After a few blocks, Pariah reached out to touch Lythienne's arm. When the elf looked at her, Pariah jerked her head and fell back behind the group. Lythienne fell back as well, giving her a curious look.

"Is it my imagination or is someone following us?" Pariah asked.

Lythienne looked amused. "You mean the one that moves with all the stealth of an army of iron golems? He's been following us since the tavern."

"Any thoughts on who it might be?"

Lythienne shrugged. "An ally would have joined the battle. For that matter, an enemy would have joined the battle, too."

Pariah nodded. "Agreed. And it's probably not someone who sees us as an easy target in the night if they saw the fight in the tavern. Well, I suppose there is only one way to find out." The road ahead had a sharp 90-degree bend to the left as it reached the north end of the harbor. "You stay with the others. I'll see who our friend is."

The two of them increased their pace to catch up with the group. They followed the turn and, as soon as they did, Pariah ducked into an alley and waited, her dagger drawn. The group continued on, only Lythienne aware she had dropped behind. The light faded but Pariah could still see in shades of gray in the darkness. After a short time, she heard the sound of a single set of armored footsteps approaching. She waited and a figure passed by the mouth of the alley. She recognized it as the cloaked figure who had been sitting at the corner table.

Pariah slipped quietly out of the alley and came up behind the individual. She closed the distance and in one smooth motion grabbed the shoulder of the person with her left hand and touched the tip of her dagger to the man's back. "Hold it," she said in her most threatening voice. "Don't do anything stupid and I won't remove your kidney."

She immediately knew she'd made a mistake. She could feel the heaviness of the mail under her hand. This kind of threat worked find against someone who was unarmored or in light leather, but the splints she rested the point of her dagger against wouldn't be easily penetrated. If the man decided to fight, it wasn't going to go well for her. However, she was committed, so she bluffed. "Who in the Hells are you and why are you following us?"

The man was silent for a moment, but then said, "I have business with Amrik Vanthampur. I saw you abduct him and wanted to see where you were taking him." The voice was younger than Pariah had expected, and she felt a sense of desperation from the figure in front of her.

"What kind of business?"

"Who are you?" the man countered.

"I'm the one with the knife, that's who I am. What kind of business?"

The man hesitated. Pariah saw that the group ahead had stopped and were watching them from a distance. After a moment, the man said, "I am trying to locate Thavius Kreeg, the high overseer of Elturel. I understand he escaped the destruction of the city and arrived in Baldur's Gate. A rumor says he was seen in the company of guards from the Vanthampur family. I wished to ask Amrik Vanthampur if he knew anything about that."

Her companions started walking back towards them. "Why not just ask him?" Pariah asked.

"I was trying to figure out the best way to approach him," he said hesitantly. "I don't know if Overseer Kreeg is a prisoner or a guest."

The rest of the group neared and Pariah felt a bit safer with them around. She put the dagger away and stepped around to the man's side, shifting her hand to the hilt of her rapier. She noticed Lythienne moved around to the other side; it would be difficult for him to run. "So who are you?" Pariah asked. "And why do you care about Kreeg?"

The man reached up and pulled back his hood to reveal the face of a teenager with brown skin, red hair and a haunted expression. "My name is Ryland Mantlemorn. I'm..." He hesitated. "...from Elturel. I arrived with the first wave of refugees, before they sealed the city."

Pariah was surprised by the face she saw. "You're just a kid!" she blurted out.

"I'm not!" he said hotly. "You don't look much older than me."

That was true, she had to admit. She wasn't sure what her real age was, but she estimated she was about twenty. And, to be fair, the stranger might look like a kid but he carried himself like a warrior.

"So where are you taking him?" the boy asked.

"Back to his villa," Pariah said. "We are working with the Flaming Fist-" She broke off as the boy suddenly stiffened. His hand went to his sword and his eyes widened. Confused, she quickly added, "We are _only_ investigating the rise of murders associated with the Dead Three, and even that we are doing under coercion. We are definitely not interested in anyone else the Fist might be after." Cautiously she added, "Okay?"

Ryland locked eyes with her for a moment and then relaxed and took his hand off his weapon. "It's not what you think," he said defensively. "There was a...misunderstanding. It wasn't my fault."

Pariah waved it off. "I understand. Nobody here is an ally of the Fist."

Farima said, "Well, they do provide order in a city that is-"

"Farima," said Lythienne gently. "Not now." The Calishite looked offended, but closed her mouth.

"Fine, Ryland was it?" Pariah said. "Here he is. Ask your questions."

Ryland looked unsure of himself. He drew himself up and tried to look tough. Amrik looked amused. Ryland said, "High Overseer Thavius Kreeg. I have heard he was seen in this city in the company of Vanthampur guards. Do you know where he is?"

Amrik's amusement increased. "Hmm, Kreeg...Kreeg. Do I know that name?"

"Amrik, no games," Pariah warned. "We still haven't decided what we are going to do when we are done with you. Don't give us reason to do bad things."

"You are no fun," he sighed. "Very well, yes, the gentleman is currently residing in our villa. I really don't know more than that." Responding to Pariah's expression he said, "It's the truth. It is my mother's business, and I try to stay out of that. I only know I've heard her mention his name."

He cocked his head and looked at Ryland. "What is your interest, I wonder. A warrior, late of Elturel. The bearing. The armor. Could you be..." He smirked. "...one of the Hellriders?"

Ryland looked shocked and his hand went to his hilt again. He nervously scanned the group. "I'm just asking about Overseer Kreeg. I want to be sure he's safe."

"Relax," said Pariah. "I told you. We're not with the Fist by choice. We don't really care who you are."

"And if you are one of the Hellriders," Lythienne said, "it is something to be proud of. They are valiant warriors who deserve respect."

Her comment obviously made Ryland feel better. Pariah said, "It sounds like you need to speak with Duke Vanthampur. That is where we are headed as well. He," she jerked her head at Amrik, "is going to get us an audience. Why don't you come with us?"

Ryland considered that and said, "I would appreciate that. I do not know this foul city or anybody in it. I am glad for any help."

The group resumed their trek towards the gate that would lead them to the Upper City and Vanthampur Villa. After a bit, Lythienne asked, "Ryland, if you don't mind my asking, how did you escape Elturel's destruction?"

The boy was quiet for a while, but finally said, "A group of us were training a few miles to the north, well outside the city. I could see the Companion, its holy light bathing the city in benevolence. I saw..." He broke off but continued. "I saw the Companion turn black, saw the sudden malevolence wash over the city. And I saw the city start to sink. We mounted and rode as hard as we could, but by the time we arrived there was nothing but a crater. We gathered a few refugees, some who had managed to leap from the edge of the city as it sank into nothingness. We led them to Baldur's Gate, since we knew it was the closest city. We managed to get inside before they closed the gates."

He stopped talking. After a bit, Lythienne prompted, "What happened to the rest of your group once you got to the city?"

Ryland looked at her. "I'm not sure. The Flaming Fist recognized that some of us were Hellriders. They tried to arrest us. There were too many of them, so we scattered." His voice turned bitter. "Fled like rats into the surrounding alleys. In the melee...I wounded one of them. I managed to escape." He shook his head. "I have no idea what happened to my companions."

"I'm sorry," said Lythienne.

"I know you have your own priorities," said Rowan, "but helping us stop the Dead Three cult might make Captain Zodge reconsider his position about the Hellriders. Maybe you'd be free to help the refugees."

"You think so?" asked Ryland hopefully.

"It's possible," she said in a voice that implied that it probably wasn't.

"Well, that's something then." Ryland seemed a bit happier as they approached the gate to the Upper City, though he started to get nervous when he saw the Flaming Fist guards.

"Don't try anything cute," Pariah warned Amrik.

"Me?" he asked in mock innocence. "Never."

"The moment you are a liability is the moment you die, understand?"

"Yes, yes," he said, rolling his eyes every so slightly. "You're very scary. Shall we continue?"

Despite his insolence, Amrik was well behaved as they approached the gate. Farima showed her badge and the guards waved them through. Ryland eyed the guards anxiously, but they didn't seem to care about him. Nor did they give the manacled Amrik a second look. It was just another day in Baldur's Gate to them. Once the gate was behind them, the group followed Amrik's instructions and headed to his mother's villa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That white mist off Pariah's rapier is a manifestation of Hex. I know it affects the target and not the weapon, but it's a convenient special effect that fits a bladelock.
> 
> Reya has changed gender to become Ryland. Since this person will travel with the group for a while, and I already have four women, I figured I'd throw a man into the mix for no particular reason.


	9. A Grand Villa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **New ally joins the hero band  
>  With hostage shackled tight.  
>  They make their way to manor grand  
>  To cure the cultist blight.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

The streets of the Upper City were wide and clean, unlike the grimy maze of the Lower City, and were well lit by frequent magical lampposts along the curbs. The buildings were sturdily constructed and intricately decorated. Although the area was quiet this late, there was more traffic than in the dangerous streets below. Upper City residents felt safe walking the streets even this late at night.

A patrol of three Flaming Fist, two human men and a halfling woman, rounded the corner and stopped as they saw the suspicious looking crew. Amrik called out a cheerful, "Good evening!" and waved a manacled hand at them.

"Evening, Master Vanthampur," one of the men said, his brow furrowed. "Everything all right?"

"It's fine," he assured them. "I'm here with some business associates. Nothing you need to concern yourself about."

Pariah had already pulled out her badge and shown it. "Zodge's orders," she told him.

The guard shrugged, quickly losing interest. "All right." The three soldiers continued their patrol.

Pariah put her badge away and looked at Amrik. "You're being very cooperative," she said with suspicion.

He gave her a bright smile. "And why not? I'm taking you to see my mother." His grin widened. "And she's going to kill you all." He started walking again, whistling a cheerful tune, and the group rushed to keep up with him.

Pariah suddenly remembered something else. "In your villa, do you have a metal box, about this big?" She held her hands about six inches apart. "Intricately decorated with ivory?"

He shrugged. "We have lots of knickknacks about the place. I really don't pay attention." He gave her his wolfish grin. "Maybe my mother can tell you about it before she kills you."

"You are not exactly helping your case right now," she warned him. "Remember, as long as you are useful, you stay alive."

Amrik didn't look intimidated. "I will get you into the manor and get you in front of my mother. That was our agreement. I don't know what box you are talking about. You might ask one of the servants. They pay attention to those kinds of things." He looked ahead and pointed. "And here we are."

She looked and saw he was pointing to a lot surrounded by a wall about twice her height. Two gates pierced the wall, a smaller one for pedestrians and a larger one for coaches. Above the smaller gate was a sign. She assumed it was the family name or some pretentious motto.

"No guards?" she asked.

"They are in the courtyard," he said.

"How many?"

"Three patrols of three."

"Any inside the house?"

"None on the first floor. Five upstairs."

Pariah drew her rapier and grabbed him by the collar. "Remember, nothing stupid," she said as she shoved him into the lead position. The others followed, their weapons drawn as well.

They approached the smaller gate and he reached out to open it. She pushed him through into the courtyard of the estate, dimly lit by lanterns along the walls. Ahead was a two-story house with a slanted roof tiled in red clay. To their right, a patrol of guards turned at the sound of the gate. When they saw the intruders, they reached for their weapons.

"Wait!" called out Amrik. "Stand down."

"We are with the Flaming Fist," Pariah called out. "We are here to see the duke."

The guards didn't relax, but they didn't draw their weapons. One looked at Amrik. "Sir?"

"I'm fine. The duke will handle this. Maintain your patrol and secure the courtyard."

The guard nodded. "Very well, sir." The patrol didn't move, and watched them carefully as they approached the front door of the house.

Amrik pushed the heavy double doors that led into the foyer. He led them into a room about twenty feet wide and a bit more than that deep. There were closed doors to the right and the left. A plaster shelf lined with ornate vases circled the room well over their heads. Spread across the flagstone floor was a large rug of exquisite design depicting a royal coronation. Two tapestries hung on the walls, one portraying a dragon flying over a ship and the other showing pilgrims on camels.

Ryland and Lythienne were pushing the double entry doors shut when a pair of ravens flew through the closing doors. Pariah's attention was drawn to the birds, and Amrik suddenly whirled and shoved her aside. "Attack now!" he yelled as he threw something on the ground. Pariah whirled on him but he was already clumsily fleeing towards the door to the right. As the object hit the floor, it burst with a muffled _whump_ and the room was suddenly filled with black smoke.

Pariah cursed herself for not searching him after taking his dagger. She charged after him through the thick smoke as she heard the flapping of wings and inhuman screeches around her. She heard Rowan mumble, "Fortune favors the bold," and felt the warmth of Tymora's blessing infuse her as she came out of the smoke near the door Amrik had fled through, now open. Past the door was a simple table and chairs and Amrik was clumsily trying to make his way past the chairs, hindered by the chains around his wrists and ankles.

Pariah heard Rowan cry out in pain. "Be careful!" the priest shouted. "Their stingers have poison."

"Got one," Ryland yelled as Pariah dashed through the open doorway. She saw it was a simple bedroom. Three beds in the opposite wall were currently occupied by a teenage girl, a mature woman, and a middle-aged man, all three stirring out of sleep at the noise. On the near wall was a fourth bed, this occupied by a quite elderly man.

Pariah rushed ahead of Amrik to block the path that led between the beds to a door in the wall left of the door she'd come through. She struck a deep wound in Amrik's chest, both the point of the blade and the cold energy running through it causing great damage. Amrik, having no weapon, shoved her back. She stumbled against the old man's bed, lost her balance and fell. Amrik ran over her, stomping hard on her left arm as he did. As the pain filled her, she lashed out angrily with her magic and cold wind surrounded him.

She heard the distinct sound of Farima's magic missiles. Lythienne called out, "Another one down," and Rowan quickly added, "Make that three."

Pariah grabbed at Amrik's cloak, both holding him back and pulling herself to her feet. She shoved him aside and moved to block the door he was trying to escape through. He tried to dodge around her but she landed another wound, this one in his leg.

"All right!" he called out, throwing his empty hands up. "I surrender."

Pariah hesitated. He was badly wounded. She was angry and knew he couldn't be trusted. However, she was also painfully aware of the eyes of four frightened servants watching her, all completely alert now. She grabbed his collar and shoved him back in the direction of the foyer. "Stay here!" she ordered the servants.

Amrik let her push him through the bedroom and back to the foyer. Pariah could still hear combat and rushed to help them. Before she reached the door, she heard Rowan shout, "No, don't chase it! Let it go."

Pariah pushed Amrik back into the foyer to see the smoke had cleared to a thin haze and the battle was over. The opposite door was now open, showing a dark but large room. She saw five puddles of black ichor on the ground. Ryland was anxiously scanning the upper reaches of the room while wielding a longsword in one hand and a shortsword in the other; both weapons were bloodied. He had a wound on his shoulder, which didn't look bad. Rowan also had a wound on her neck, and the skin around it was already getting swollen and red from the toxin she had warned the others about.

Lythienne was shaking the ache out of her hand. "For little things, they are pretty hardy. It was like punching a wall."

Ryland nodded. "Devils and demons are hard to kill with normal weapons. Silvered or magical weapons are best." He looked embarrassed. "Hellriders are usually armed with those kinds of weapons. I have trained with them for several years and was to be inducted as a knight next month. I would have been issued my silvered weapons then. These," he waved his swords, "are less effective."

Rowan started circulating among the group, mumbling prayers over everyone's wounds, including a minor prayer to stop Amrik's bleeding. Pariah waved to the puddles on the ground and asked the room in general, "What are those?" She wrinkled her nose at the sulfurous smell that was starting to permeate the room.

"Devils disappear when killed in our world," said Ryland. "They are not actually dead. They have returned to the Hells."

Pariah turned to Amrik. "Are there more of those things?" she demanded. He shrugged smugly. Pariah pulled his face close to hers. In a low voice so she wouldn't be heard by the people in the next room, she growled, "I am at the end of my patience with you. You are alive only because I didn't want to upset the servants. I'm still willing to kill you."

Some of his smugness faded. "I don't know," he said. "They are Thurstwell's pets, not mine. He may have more."

"We know at least one got away," Rowan said. "Well, it's not like we can duck out to the market to buy better weapons. We will just have to make do. Fortune favors the bold."

Pariah saw Amrik's eyes narrow as the wheels turned in his head. "Perhaps I know of a silvered weapon," he said. "What would that be worth to you?"

"You are not in a position to negotiate," Pariah warned him.

"Exactly my point. If you continue to take me along, I'm going to die. I can get you a weapon, but you agree to let me go."

"So you can go get help?" Pariah snorted.

"Why bother?" he snorted. "You will not survive a meeting with my mother. I, however, would like to. Let me go and you can get back to ransacking our home or whatever it is you plan."

Pariah mulled that over. He was proving to be less useful than she had hoped, and dragging him around was getting inconvenient. "You give us the weapon, and we chain you to a post somewhere. If you're so sure your mother will kill us, she can release you later."

He sighed. "Oh, very well. I suppose that's the best I can hope for."

She turned to the rest of the group. "What do you all think?"

"I have never liked taking hostages like we are criminals," Farima said. "I agree with the plan."

Lythienne shrugged. "Seems like a good deal."

Rowan frowned. "If we can trust him, then I agree. But that's a big if."

Pariah looked over at Ryland. "I definitely do not trust him," he said firmly. "However, I will go along with the group if that's what everyone wants."

She looked back at Amrik. "Where is it?"

He pointed at the other door in the foyer. "Through there is the gallery. Past that is the parlor. There is an ornate chair in there with a secret compartment in the armrest. Inside is a silver dagger."

"Any guards between here and there?"

He shook his head. "I don't know about my brother's imps, though."

Rowan said, "How about if Farima and I stay to talk to them," she nodded at the servants through the open bedroom door. "You three go recover the dagger."

Pariah knew that her insight could help the questioning, but was also aware that she had hardly made the best first impression on them. Having her there might make them clam up and would probably do more harm than good. "Good idea," she said with reluctance.

Lythienne led the way. She carefully entered the next room, and whirled to her right with a start, fists raised defensively. Pariah brandished her weapon, suspecting a trap, but then Lythienne relaxed. She shot Amrik an amused look. "Funny," she said.

"Oh that?" he said in his smarmy way. "I've seen it so often, I forgot it was there."

Lythienne smirked and moved further into the gallery. Pariah followed, Amrik firmly in her grip and Ryland close behind. When they passed through the door, she saw what had startled Lythienne. Just inside the door was a life-sized, realistic wax figure of a gray-haired, broad-shouldered woman with masculine features. The figure looked disapprovingly out on the room. In her arms she held a scowling, battle-worn gray cat with a rat in its mouth. The cat had a pair of wings folded against its back.

The rest of the room was dimly lit. Heavy black curtains blocked the south windows, so the room probably would have been dim even it had been daytime. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, burning just brightly enough to illuminate the outlines of objects in the room without revealing them. Pariah tightened her grip on Amrik. "This seems like a good place for an ambush," she said.

"Not at all," he assured her. "I have no more tricks."

The room was cluttered with art: tapestries, paintings and alabaster busts. To their left was the outer wall, with the aforementioned curtained windows. Ahead was a single wooden door, and on the same wall further down was a set of double doors, all closed. To the right the room stretched for about thirty feet where she saw a third door as well as a stairway leading to the upper floor. "Which way?"

Amrik nodded to the door across from them. "In there."

Lythienne crossed to the indicated door and opened it. It led into a richly furnished parlor. There were curtained windows on two walls, indicating it was a corner room. An austere, high-backed chair faced a pair of padded couches and a coffee table. The walls were lined with portraits of the stern woman who had posed for the wax figure, the winged cat, and six different men. Two of the men she recognized as Mortlock and Amrik. A large tapestry depicting burning angels falling from the sky into a pit of fire dominated one wall.

"There is a secret compartment in left armrest," Amrik said, nodding at the chair. "Press there to open it," he pointed to a spot.

Lythienne cautiously pressed on the spot, and the top of the armrest slipped aside to reveal a compartment holding a fine silver dagger. Lythienne removed it and examined it in the dim light.

Meanwhile, Pariah was examining the rest of the room. She approached the heavy oak coffee table. It looked sturdy, and she kicked it to confirm it was. She fished the key to the manacles out of her pocket. "Face down," she said, pointing at the coffee table.

Amrik sighed but did so. She unlocked both sets of manacles and relocked them so they were wrapped around the table. He could still move a little, but there was no way to get the chains loose without sawing the table apart. She clapped him on the shoulder and said, "If I remember, I'll drop the key with the servants when we leave. If not..." She shrugged. "Well, then I guess you have a long night ahead of you."

He didn't bother to respond. They exited the parlor back into the gallery. She looked at the door but it had no lock, and since it opened into the parlor she couldn't barricade it. It would have to do.

They returned to the foyer to find Rowan and Farima talking to the old man, who maintained a prim and proper bearing despite his gray hair being disheveled and the fact he was wearing only a nightshirt. The other three servants peered out from the bedroom but didn't seem to be part of the conversation.

Farima glanced over as they came in and turned back to the old man. "We thank you for your assistance. Again, I apologize for the disruption. We hope to complete our business here with minimal conflict. For your own safety, please return to your bedroom and remain there until we have left."

The man's lips pursed slightly as he looked at Pariah. "And Master Amrik?" he asked.

"He's fine," said Pariah. She pointed towards the parlor. "He's chained up in there. We'll let him go before we leave."

The man nodded and then retreated into the servant's quarters, closing the door behind him.

"The servants are quite upset with the violence," Farima said to Pariah accusingly.

"Hey, we didn't strike the first blow," the tiefling responded defensively.

"Yes, but perhaps coming in with a chained up hostage simply invited retaliation."

"Enough," said Lythienne firmly. "Now is not the time to debate the merits of our approach."

Rowan turned to address the group. "I explained to them we are working with the Flaming Fist. The butler was somewhat cooperative. I asked about Kreeg and he said the man is here as a guest and is staying in the basement. The duke is down there as well. He didn't know anything about the basement; servants aren't allowed down there. However, he knows that a number of people come and go there. I also asked him about the box, and he said Kreeg brought something like that. Thurstwell has it, and he is in his bedroom upstairs. He asked that we not hurt Thurstwell, or anyone else for that matter."

"There are a bunch of guards upstairs who might not make that easy," observed Lythienne dryly. "Not to mention probably more imps."

"We should at least try to talk to them first," insisted Farima.

Pariah felt her frustration with the woman growing but tried to keep her voice calm as she said, "I agree. I have always agreed with talking to avoid a fight. But sometimes a fight cannot be avoided."

Farima snorted in disbelief but said nothing more.

"Did you find the dagger?" asked Rowan. Lythienne held it up. Rowan said, "Who should it go to?"

"Let me test something," Pariah asked, holding out her hand. Lythienne held out the dagger and Pariah took it from her. She brandished it but nothing happened. It didn't frost up like her rapier did. She shook her head. "No. I can't focus my power through it. I'm better off with my rapier." She handed it back.

Ryland waved it off as well. "If it was a bigger blade, I'd use it, but even with the tough skin of the fiends I'd do more damage with my current weapons than I'd do with that." Lythienne held it out to Farima and Rowan and neither looked especially interested.

"Was that really for nothing?" Pariah sighed.

Lythienne laughed brightly. "Not necessarily." She made a few stabs in the air with the weapon, moving just as fluidly as when she struck with her fists. "I have trained with some light weapons. I'm used to a knife of a different shape, but I can make use of this." Her brow furrowed. "The lack of a sheath will be somewhat aggravating, but I'll manage."

"Very well," said Rowan. "Shall we head upstairs?"

"I shall lead the way," said Farima firmly. "I wish to speak with the guards rather than attacking them outright."

Ryland said, "May I suggest that I lead the way? You come after me so you can still talk to them, but if they aren't in a talking mood I think you'd rather have my armor between you and their weapons."

Farima furrowed her brow, but then said, "Very well. But do not attack first!" She illuminated her staff and the group went into the gallery.

Ryland headed for the stairs leading up to the next floor, which curved sharply to the right to follow the corner of the room. There was a railing along the stairs and along the edge of the second floor that looked down, but Pariah couldn't see anything past it on the upper floor. Farima followed Ryland, with Lythienne coming next, Pariah after, and Rowan in the back. All had weapons drawn. Ryland reached the first landing and stopped. He nodded to Farima.

"You, there, at the top of the stairs," Farima called out. "We are representatives of the Flaming Fist. We wish to speak with Thurstwell Vanthampur. May we come up?"

Pariah heard a voice from above but couldn't make out the words. She heard a higher pitched voice yell something, but it was muffled. She thought she heard the word "no" but wasn't sure. A man's voice called down the stairs, "Master Thurstwell is not receiving visitors at the moment. Leave now!"

Farima looked back at the group. "If he is not willing to meet with us, then I suggest we head downstairs to speak with the duke."

"We need to speak with him," Pariah insisted.

"Why? So you can do the bidding of your master?" Farima replied in a snide tone.

Pariah held her temper. "He said that recovering the box would help save Baldur's Gate from being sucked into the Hells." That wasn't technically what he had said, but Pariah's comment did make Farima hesitate.

Farima called up. "We believe your master is in possession of a small metal box. That box may important to the safety of the city."

Pariah heard the mumbled voice from upstairs, and then the higher pitched voice screeched something more loudly. She didn't make it all out, but it sounded something like "steal it" and "send them away."

"This is the last warning," yelled the guard upstairs. "Leave now or we will remove you."

"We need that box," Pariah insisted to Farima.

Before Farima could respond, Lythienne said, "She has a point. If the safety of the city is in question, we should do what we can. Your desire to avoid violence is admirable, but I think we may have no choice."

Farima scowled down at the rest of them and then she mumbled some magic words. In a magically enhanced voice that shook the walls, Farima bellowed, "Thurstwell, you saw how we fought downstairs. Your guards cannot stop us. Please surrender the box or we will be forced to take it!"

The high pitched voice screamed and then yelled, "Kill them! Kill them now!"

They could hear the footsteps of guards above and Ryland charged up the stairs with a roar. Farima mumbled, "Cyric's blood," and followed him. Pariah was waiting for Lythienne to go next when she heard the sound of wings. She turned in time to see a shimmer in the air over the stairs and then suddenly a small, red-skinned humanoid with horns, a tail and leathery wings appeared out of nowhere, stabbing at Rowan with the stinger on its tail.

Rowan dodged the blow, and Pariah ran up to stab the thing with her rapier. She felt what Ryland had reported, a resistance to her blade, but she also felt the cold magic in her lash out at the fiend. It was hurt but managed to pull back its tail to strike at Pariah as another imp came over the railing. Suddenly she heard Lythienne laugh, but it was a laugh tinged with contempt. "Pathetic!" the elf sneered. "Your hellish masters will torture you for a thousand years for your incompetence."

Pariah felt the magic in the words. It wasn't just an insult; it was a curse. The injured imp looked horrified for a moment, and then it melted into black goo that splattered to the floor. Pariah was so shocked by the incident she almost didn't parry the stinger of the second imp.

Pariah stabbed at the second imp, again striking a deep blow that would have killed a normal creature of that size, but its unnatural resistance foiled her again. Lythienne darted forward, brandishing the silver dagger. With a dance like motion, she struck the imp. The blade sunk deeply into its chest and it dropped to the ground, dissolving into a puddle of ichor.

The three women turned to the stairs to join the fighting they heard above when suddenly they heard a terrible shriek from upstairs that left their ears ringing. They ran up the stairs to find the others standing over the bodies of five guards. Pariah scanned the wide hallway but saw no other enemies.

"What was that horrible noise?" Rowan asked.

"I did that," said Farima, "though in hindsight it was probably wasted magic. I had not realized the guards were so...fragile."

Pariah's mind was focused on something else. "Lythienne, did you really just insult someone to death."

Lythienne smiled at her, though her eyes were sad. "A storyteller's words have power," she said. "The power to bring joy, and the power to bring...other things. I do not like using the darker power of words, but I will when I must."

Pariah looked around the upstairs hall again. There were five doors, all closed. "Thurstwell," she called out. "Where are you?"

There was no answer, but she heard whimpering from behind the second door to the left. She carefully approached it while her companions watched the other doors. She turned the latch and pushed it open. It was a surprisingly plain bedroom, brightly lit by a fire in the fireplace. Drab curtains covered the windows. Furniture consisted of a bed, a padlocked iron chest, and a claw-footed iron bathtub. The whimpering came from the other side of the bed. She moved over, rapier at the ready, to find a frail fortyish man wearing a simple dressing gown. He was sitting on the floor and when he saw her he backed up in a panic until he came up against the wall.

He was surrounded by a shimmering field of some kind, but what really drew her attention was what he held: a black metal box with ivory inlays. "Toss that box over here," she said.

The man hesitated, but then tossed the box at her feet. Seeing he was terrified, she said, "We aren't going to hurt you. We just want the box." He was obviously no threat. A stiff wind would probably knock him over. She pulled out her Flaming Fist badge and showed it to him but that didn't calm him at all.

Pariah bent down to pick up the box, still watching the man. He might be frail but he might also be a spellcaster. He showed no signs of wanting to do anything other than crawl under the bed. The box was heavier than she had expected. She thought she felt a dark energy coming from it, but knew that might just be her imagination.

Farima had entered the room and was watching Pariah suspiciously. "We got what we wanted," Pariah said, showing the box to her. She opened her mouth to say more when she felt a familiar coldness sweep through her body. She struggled for breath and fell to her knees.

Distantly she heard Farima demand of Thurstwell, "What have you done to her?"

"It's okay," Pariah forced out, her words hanging in a cold fog in front of her. "It's not him. It's _him_." Those nonsensical words took the last of her breath. She endured until finally the bone-deep chill started to recede. New knowledge. New power in her blade. New twists of energy coursing through her shivering body. New rewards for her faithful service to the evil inside her.

"Now, open the box," his voice murmured. "Do so and my blade will be your strongest ally. My power will be at your fingertips." He paused and then added, "You can save the mortal souls of your city, but only if you serve me."

Her awareness of her surroundings returned. She was sitting on her heels, teeth chattering. Rowan was kneeling next to her, looking worried. Farima watched her with a mix of suspicion and concern. Lythienne and Ryland watched from the doorway. "It's fine," she assured them. "It's over."

"What happened?" Ryland asked.

"It's a side effect of my magic," Pariah answered quickly before anyone else could. "It happens now and then. Nothing to worry about." She saw no reason to tell him the source of her power.

As the warmth returned to her body, Pariah looked at the box that was still clutched in her numb fingers. It was the same as the vision Levistus had sent before: a dark metal box with raised ivory inlays that formed an intricate maze around the sides. It seemed solid. There was no obvious catch or keyhole.

She turned to Thurstwell, who was still cowering in a corner. "How do I open this?" she asked.

"I don't know," he said in a shaking voice. "Mother asked me to open it, and I have been studying it for days, but I haven't figured out the mechanism. It must have something to do with the maze on the side, but nothing I've tried has worked. There is obviously something inside, so it must open." He pointed at the chest in the corner. "I've made some notes on my attempts, but all they do is document my failures."

Pariah shook the box and heard a metal on metal sound, like the sound of coins but heavier. "Who would be able to open it?"

"Well, Mother got it from Thavius Kreeg. He asked her to keep it safe, but didn't say why. She wanted to know what was inside, but without Kreeg knowing. I suppose he might be able to open it."

"And Kreeg is in the basement?"

He nodded frantically. Pariah thought for a moment. To the others she said, "I don't want to leave him here in case he calls for help or somehow warns them downstairs." She fished the manacle key out of her pocket. "Ryland, why don't you take him down to the parlor and chain him up with his brother. We'll stay here and search his room for any clues to opening the box."

Ryland nodded and stepped into the room. He reached down to grab Thurstwell's arm and haul him to his feet. He drew his shortsword and said to the frail man, "If any more of your pets attack, I shall use you as a shield. Understood?"

Thurstwell's eyes widened and he nodded. Ryland escorted him out of the room.

Pariah waved the others over. "Look," she said quickly, "I don't think Ryland should know about my little friend." She tapped her head as she said this. "I'm not sure he would understand and I think we need his help right now."

She wasn't surprised when Farima objected. "The Hellriders are honorable warriors. I think we should trust him."

Before Pariah could respond, Lythienne said, "Honorable, yes, but still people. Even the best of them have their prejudices and flaws."

"Farima," Pariah said, "if we weren't forced together by Zodge, would you have stood by me? After you found out about me? Or would you have walked away?" Farima frowned and didn't answer. Pariah continued, "I'll continue to tell you three the truth, but I don't think this is a secret we should hurry to share with others."

She sighed. "And about that truth: he spoke to me again, after that little," she waved vaguely at the floor where she had collapsed, "whatever it was. He wants us to find a way to open the box. He said again that if we listen to him, it will save the city."

Pariah sensed indifference from Lythienne, growing concern from Rowan, and outright hostility from Farima. Rowan said, "Let's not lose sight of the reason we are here: the Dead Three. We still need to go talk to Duke Vanthampur about that. And if we find Kreeg, then maybe he can open the box. As before, we decide what we do at the time."

Pariah looked over at the chest. "And I really meant what I said about looking for clues about the box." She saw the lock and cursed herself for not asking Thurstwell for the key. "Look around for anything that might be useful. And a key to that chest in case I can't get it open."

She pulled a set of picks out of a pocket and set to work on the lock. It was not a difficult mechanism and it popped open easily. She lifted the heavy lid to reveal a jumble of wrinkled garments, red wax candles, quills, blank sheets of parchment and jars of ink. She also saw a wooden coffer and two books, one with a black cover and one with a tan cover. She took out the books and held them over her shoulder. "Are these anything?" she asked the room in general. Rowan took them from her, put them on the bed and started flipping through them with her one hand.

Pariah flipped open the coffer to find gold and silver coins as well as a potion bottle. Healing potions were common enough that she recognized it on sight.

"No," said Farima firmly, moving to stand next to her.

Pariah looked up in surprise. "Huh?"

"No," Farima said again, glaring at her. "It is bad enough that we have barged into the house of one of the Council of Four with a hostage in tow. I have tolerated that in the name of our investigation, though it is not the tactic I would have used. However, I will not allow you to steal from them."

Pariah could tell she was serious about this. To be fair, she was still spending the money they had gotten from the cult. For that matter, she was still spending the money they had gotten from the pirates. She lived cheaply and had been saving her coins, though she wasn't sure why other than to have a stable future. The point was that she didn't really need more money right now.

She looked back at the coffer and lifted out the bottle. She stood and showed the potion out to Farima. "This could save one of us from death. I'll leave the coins, but I'm taking this."

Farima scowled, but merely snorted and walked away. Pariah slipped the potion into a belt pouch and then turned to see if the others had found anything. Rowan pointed to the black book on the bed. "This is some kind of gloomy poem about the end of the world. Possibly valuable, but not useful." She held up the tan book. "This is his notes on the box. I didn't read them closely but I think he's right: it's just a list of things that didn't work. However, there might be useful information if we study it more closely." She paused. "He did say he thinks the box is infernal in origin."

Farima opened her mouth and Pariah expected her to object to keeping the box. To her surprise, the woman said, "That would make sense if it were related to the disappearance of Elturel and the possible similar fate of Baldur's Gate. I am loathe to cooperate with a devil, but I will concede that the contents of that box might be important."

They heard a set of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, and a moment later Ryland appeared outside the door. "They are securely locked up down there. I peeked out through the curtains. The guards outside are watching the house suspiciously, but I didn't see any sign they are about to storm the place."

"All right, we are done here," said Rowan. "Shall we head for the basement? The butler said it's through the kitchen."

Pariah studied the box. "How are we going to carry this?" she asked. "I'm sure there is more fighting ahead, and I don't want this to get in the way."

Rowan pulled out one of the pieces of clothing from the chest. "We can rig up a sling." She looked at her amputated left arm. "Well, I'll need someone to help me with this." Lythienne stepped forward, took the clothing and, under Rowan's guidance, she rigged a sling that strapped the box and the notebook to Pariah's back. It wasn't all that comfortable, but it would do for a while.

The group headed down the stairs to the gallery, still alert for both guards and imps. From the gallery they passed into a large kitchen. Pots, pans, and cooking utensils dangled above three wooden preparation tables in the middle of the room, and shelves were lined with bowls, platters, herbs, spices, and dried goods. Next to the door was a dumbwaiter with a manually operated rope-and-pulley system. Sitting on one of the top shelves, a winged cat glared down at them as they entered. It hissed but showed no overt hostility. Lythienne and Rowan made some cooing noises at it but it ignored them so the group continued through the far door to find a brick-walled staircase leading down. "Fortune favors the bold," Rowan sighed as she looked down the stairway. With Ryland leading the way and their weapons ready, they descended into the villa basement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arguably the imps at the ship should have attacked when they left the ship, but I figured Thurstwell would be more likely to spy. He would realize two imps aren't enough to overpower the party, and he would want to know what their intentions were for his brother.
> 
> Holding the two imps so they could join the four in the foyer made the battle quite interesting, and giving Amrik a chance to escape by saving his smoke bomb also added to the excitement. I honestly wasn't sure if he was going to get away or not. If he'd made it to the basement, Pariah would have stopped chasing him and the forces below would have been ready for the party, but she managed to hurt him enough to get him to surrender.


	10. A Descending Stairway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Into the maze beneath the street  
>  They cautiously proceed  
>  Opposing those who serve deceit  
>  And worship sinful creed.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

The stairs led down to one end of a dry, cluttered cellar. Four stone pillars braced the ten-foot-high vaulted ceiling, and the walls were lined by a dozen barrels on wooden braces. Half the barrels had brass spigots tapped into them. At this end of the room was a stack of wooden crates and a similar stack was in the middle of the room. Unlike the last time they had been underground, this area was well constructed with a tile floor, brick walls and a plaster ceiling. On each pillar was an oil lantern fitted with green glass. As they looked into the well-lit room they saw sturdy doors made of riveted iron plates, one on the right wall and one on the left.

Ryland turned to the rest of them with a questioning look. When he got shrugs in return, he headed for the closer door, which was one the right. "Wait," said Lythienne. "Since the servants do not come down here, I fear this area might be trapped or alarmed. Let me check." She slipped past him.

Before Lythienne reached the door, Pariah heard a crash from the middle of the room. She turned to see the top of a crate had burst open and three spined devils, the same small purple fiends they had seen at the Low Lantern, leapt out and attacked the party. Like the one in the tavern, they were all armed with military forks with jagged tips. As she turned to face them, the air grew cold and dense around her. She realized this instinctive defensive spell was one of the new abilities Levistus had given her.

She, Lythienne and Ryland rushed towards the devils. Lythienne quickly pulled ahead even over that short distance. One of the devils shot flaming spines from its tail at her and she dodged, but one spine hit her in the shoulder. She closed and her silver blade flashed in the light of the lanterns as it stabbed into the creature. It pulled away, but an energy beam from behind them blasted a hole clean through it and it melted into a puddle.

Pariah closed with the fiend on the right while Ryland took the other. The winged humanoid agilely dodged her rapier thrusts, and as she shifted her position she shifted right into the path of its military fork. The blow punched right through the frosty aura that surrounded her, dissipating it and leaving a shallow wound in her arm. However the unnatural iciness of her shield traveled up its weapon and it hissed in pain as it quickly pulled its weapon back.

Ryland and Lythienne teamed up on the other beast while Pariah and the fiend before her sparred, neither able to land a blow. Lythienne plunged her silver dagger into the devil she was fighting and in one fluid motion launched into a kick that slammed into Pariah's opponent. The kick didn't do much damage, but it distracted the fiend so that it missed a parry. Pariah's rapier skewered it and, as it died, she felt dark energy flow into her and restore her. As expected, the devils turned into reeking black ichor as they died.

They turned to scan the rest of the room and listen for sound of alarm, but all seemed quiet.

"I suspect we will find more of these beasts," said Ryland, wiping the blood from his swords before resheathing them. "The Hells obviously have influence here." Pariah could feel Farima's eyes boring into her.

Lythienne carefully checked both doors but found no traps. She opened one and reported it led into a small wine cellar with no other exits. The group moved to the other door, the one she had originally been headed towards before the ambush. She cracked it open and peered through. After a moment, she opened it wider so they could see a hallway that led to a T-junction about twenty-five feet away. The construction was the same as in the storeroom: tile floor, red brick walls and plaster ceiling. The heavy smell of incense wafted into the room, and under that odor was a faint but foul stench.

Lythienne looked over at Pariah. "Shall we scout ahead?" Pariah nodded.

They moved quietly out into the hallway. As they neared the junction, Pariah saw the source of the smell. Despite the high quality construction, this was a sewer. The corridor that crossed was bisected by a four-foot wide trench cut into the floor, and in that trench foul-smelling water ran lazily from their left to their right. As they looked up and down the corridor, occasional stone bridges connected one side of the corridor to the other. They were in the center of this stretch of corridor. To the left, the tunnel continued about forty feet and then turned left. To the right, it did the same, but this turn was to the right. There was also a branching tunnel shortly before the turn.

Lythienne and Pariah exchanged shrugs. Lythienne turned right and started to move quietly down that hall, Pariah padding along close behind and the rest of the group following about thirty feet back. At the first bridge, Pariah crossed to the other walkway. They reached the branching corridor and saw it ended in a cave-in after a few dozen feet. Lythienne reached the point where the corridor turned. She peeked around the corner and quickly drew her head back.

She turned to the trailing party and held up a hand. They stopped. She turned to Pariah and held up two fingers. She slipped the dagger into her belt and struck a ready stance. Pariah already had her rapier out, but also called up the cold into her left hand in case she needed to attack at range.

Two figures came around the corner, one walking on each side of the trench. They wore black robes and gold devil masks, and each carried a censer that they waved about, spreading the incense smoke that permeated the air. The robed figures stopped in surprise as the two women rushed forward. Lythienne launched a powerful punch into the man's gut, and when he doubled over kicked his head. He collapsed. Pariah plunged her sword deep into the chest of the other. As the dark energy flowed into her, she knew it had been a fatal blow.

The censers hit the tiles with loud clangs as the two cultists collapsed, but the noise appeared to alert no one. The corridor ahead made another right turn, and facing them at the corner was another iron door. Pariah pointed and said in a low voice, "We should hide the bodies in there."

Lythienne nodded. "Let's check it out first." She signaled the others to come ahead and then she and Pariah moved forward. Lythienne checked around the corner, nodded that it was safe, and continued to the door. Pariah could see the tunnel turned yet again, this time to the left.

They reached the door. Lythienne cracked the door open, but the hinge creaked. She froze. After a moment, a deep voice from inside the room bellowed, "Who's there?" in Infernal.

Lythienne looked at Pariah, confused. Pariah mouthed, "Shit!" back at her. She turned and saw the rest of the group had just rounded the corner. She beckoned them over.

"What are you humans playing at?" the voice growled. She heard heavy footsteps coming towards them, and the door burst open as a large foot kicked it. Pariah clumsily stumbled back to avoid the door as it slammed into the wall. Standing in the doorway was a broad-shouldered figure with purple skin and a beard of writhing snakelike tentacles nearly as long as his muscular arms. He brandished a glaive and, as he saw the intruders, he swung it in a vicious arc at Pariah.

She continued her clumsy stumble back to avoid the blade, nearly losing her footing completely but managing to avoid falling into the trench of foul water. Lythienne took advantage of the devil's poor stance land a powerful kick in his chest. He stumbled back into the room and she followed, darting around to his side.

As Pariah regained her balance, she heard a bellow behind her. She saw Ryland charging down the corridor. He leapt over the trench, landing with a crash on the tiles, and then charged into the room to engage the devil. "Stealthy," Pariah mumbled sarcastically as she followed him a bit more quietly.

She saw the devil and Lythienne engaged in a duel. The elf moved quickly, but so did he. He lashed out with his tentacles, the spikes raking across her arm as she failed to get out of the way. His glaive swept up and opened a deep gash on her thigh. She gritted her teeth and, as the wound started to turn black and fester, she growled a rather nasty Elvish profanity -- Pariah might not speak Elvish, but she could swear in several languages. "Healing," Ryland called out as he slashed at the devil. "Lythienne needs healing!"

Pariah shook her head; the entire place was going to hear them at this rate. The point of her blade glanced off the armor of the devil, but then a swarm of energy bolts came in from outside the room and pelted him. He roared angrily but didn't take his attention off Lythienne.

Pariah heard Rowan's voice from outside mumbling a prayer, and a golden light bathed all of them. She felt her wound from the spiked devil's fork healing. Lythienne's wounds closed as well, and the festering disappeared.

Lythienne struck with her silver dagger, but her stance was mostly defensive now. The devil was focused on her, and Pariah and Ryland took advantage of that. She stabbed and he slashed and they wore the devil down, until finally it crashed to the ground, nearly slashing Lythienne with another glaive blow as it did. It dissolved like the others had. Pariah was disappointed to see its weapon melted into goo as well; she figured it might have been magical.

Pariah was catching her breath when a voice said, "Bravo!" She whirled in surprise to see a man in a cage. He was a short, lean middle-aged man dressed in an ankle-length caftan. His features were Calishite, like Farima's, and he sported a crimson goatee, presumably dyed since his hair was dark brown.

Pariah looked around the room and realized this was a small prison. There were five cells, two of them occupied. The other prisoner was an elderly woman with an aristocratic bearing. While Pariah was still taking this in, the man said, "Are you here to rescue us? If so, the cell keys are on the wall there." His accent was similar to Farima's.

Rowan had come in and was attending to Lythienne's wounds; the prayer had helped her, but had not healed her completely. Pariah said, "Ryland, Farima, drag those bodies in the hall into here. We don't want anyone to know we are here." She retrieved the keys and unlocked the cells. The two prisoners joined them.

"Did Sylvira send you?" the man asked.

Pariah furrowed her brow. "I don't know who that is. We are working for the Flaming Fist, looking into a cult that worships the Dead Three and is murdering people in the city. The trail led here."

"The Dead Three?" the man mumbled. "That seems odd. I supposed it could be a distraction from her real plans."

"Whose real plans?"

"Duke Vanthampur. She's-"

"If you are working for the Flaming Fist," the aristocratic woman interrupted, "then perhaps you can escort me back home."

Pariah raised an eyebrow. "And who are you?"

The woman looked offended. "I am Satiir Thione-Hhune." She paused, as though Pariah was supposed to be impressed. When she wasn’t, the woman continued in an irritated tone. "House Hhune is one of the patriar families. I was abducted by these ruffians several days ago, presumably for ransom. I am quite put out by my treatment here and I would like to return home immediately."

Although Pariah resented her imperious tone, she also sensed fear and desperation underneath. Being imprisoned by a devil jailer probably wasn't a pleasant experience.

Before she could answer, Ryland and Farima came in, dragging the corpses in from the hall. "I cleaned up the blood as well," Farima said. "No one passing should be suspicious."

"Then perhaps we could close the door and rest a bit," said Lythienne. Pariah realized she looked a bit haggard. Whatever dark magic had been in that glaive wound might have left some lingering effects.

Pariah said, "I agree. Let's take a moment, bind some wounds and talk about our next step."

"And if someone comes in?" asked Rowan as Ryland closed the door.

Pariah had already thought of that. She said, "Well, then the jailer will get rid of them." She focused on her own form and felt herself transforming into an identical, if slightly shorter, image of the jailer. "Grr, me devil. Me smash," she said in the deepest voice she could muster.

Lythienne laughed. "Nice. You should take that act on the road."

Even Farima looked amused. She said "Actually 'me smash' is more of a demon's attitude than a devil's, but that could be a good ruse if we need it." She looked uncomfortable. "However, would you mind returning to your usual form? This is quite disturbing."

Pariah let the spell go and resumed her normal appearance. She turned to the other prisoner. "And you. Are you a patriar too?"

"No. My name is Falaster Fisk. I work for Sylvira Savakis, a scholar based in Candlekeep who is one of the leading experts on the Nine Hells."

Pariah's attention perked up at the mention of an expert in the Hells. "And why did you come here?"

"I'm looking for Thavius Kreeg, high overseer of Elturel, who I believe is staying here."

"Oh?" said Ryland. "And what is your business with High Overseer Kreeg?"

"Sylvira has been monitoring devil activity in the area for months. It was clear that something was happening. She thinks the devils were behind the disappearance of Elturel."

Without thinking, Pariah said, "That's true. It's been dragged into the Hells."

Falaster gave her an appraising look. "And how did you come by that information?"

Realizing it might not be a good idea to reveal her source, she stammered out, "Uh, well, it's one of the rumors I've heard on the street."

He studied her a bit longer, his skepticism radiating off of him. He said, "Well, that is the theory Sylvira had. She thinks Thavius Kreeg signed struck a bargain with an archdevil, and that a copy of the contract he signed is hidden inside a magic puzzle box. She asked me to help her obtain proof of Kreeg's crimes."

"Liar!" Ryland bellowed, his face red, his hand on his sword. "How dare you impugn the reputation of a hero like High Overseer Kreeg! He saved Elturel by summoning the Companion and freeing the city from the vampire lord that had conquered it."

Falaster's mouth dropped open in shock. "I'm sorry, and you are?"

"Ryland Mantlemorn," he grated. "Hellrider and faithful defender of Elturel, from both physical threats and slanderous statements."

"I see," Falaster said quickly. "I see. Well, of course, that's the point. I'm here looking for evidence. I didn't mean to sound like I'm accusing the overseer. Certainly not. Heroic man, I'm sure. I want to address this gossip. I wanted to speak with him and find out the truth of it. Clear his name from these nasty rumors. We all want to find the truth, don't we?"

Ryland glared at him. "We do. That is why I am here to find High Overseer Kreeg, to ensure his safety."

"Good, good," Falaster said with relief. "See? We are on the same side."

Ryland didn't relax much. "We shall see."

Meanwhile, Pariah had removed the box from the sling on her back. "Is this the box you were talking about?" she said, holding it up.

Falaster's eyes widened. "You found it!" He reached forward to examine it. "Where was it?"

"Thurstwell Vanthampur was trying to open it. He failed. Do you know how?"

He took it from Pariah and looked it over. "No, I'm afraid not. These infernal puzzle boxes are terribly difficult, but I think Sylvira might be able to. May I take it to her in Candlekeep?"

Pariah hesitated. "I want to see it open as well," she said. "But let's figure out what we are doing right now first. Later maybe I can go with you. Bring to box to this Sylvira person." She held out her hand to take it back.

He hesitated but returned it to her. "Yes, I think it might be a good idea for you to come to Candlekeep. I suspect she would like to meet you."

"Me?" Pariah said in surprise. "Why?" She secured the box on her back again.

"Ah, well, she is a tiefling like you," he said. "She's always happy to talk to others of her kind."

Pariah studied him for a moment. He was clearly lying, but it didn't seem worth pursuing at the moment. "Well, it seems like we all want to talk to Kreeg," she said.

"We also must speak with Duke Vanthampur," said Farima. "She may be behind the Dead Three attacks, and we wish to stop them." She paused and looked down at the black pool that was all that remained of the jailer. "And if this place is home to fiends like that, and those that worship them, I put forth that it is our duty to root them out and destroy this nest of evil."

An exchanging of glances occurred and Rowan said, "Let's figure that part out later. For now, it seems our goals are to find the overseer and the duke."

"And what about me?" said Satiir. "Am I just supposed to sit in this filthy cell while you gallivant around? I demand you take me home."

There was silence while they considered their options. "We could escort her upstairs," suggested Farima.

"The guards are still outside," said Rowan.

"Then we take her to the gate."

"And let her walk home alone at night? Even in the Upper City, that's dangerous. I'm sorry, but we don't have time right now. We need to deal with whatever is going on down here first. Once they realize we are here, they are going to be harder to dig out."

Lythienne said, "If they are summoning devils, they'll just summon more if we delay."

Farima looked dissatisfied. "We can't just leave her."

"You can stay here," said Pariah to the woman, "and we'll get you on our way out. Or you can come with us, stay in the back and out of trouble, but that might be dangerous."

"That's not acceptable," she huffed.

Pariah shrugged. "Or you can go upstairs and try to get home, but that's going to be even more dangerous."

Farima stepped forward. "Lady Thione-Hhune, I give you my word we will see you safely home when this is over. However, the fate of the city is at stake now and we have to resolve that problem first."

Pariah could feel the woman's fear and helplessness, so she said, "I agree with her. We'll get you home when this is over." There was a general mumble of agreement. "Or if you come with us now, we will protect you."

"Nonsense," she said. She marched back into her cell and closed the door. "I will stay here. They will eventually ransom me to my family." Her voice shook ever so slightly.

"We will come back for you," Farima said. "I swear." The woman just snorted and turned away.

Pariah felt bad for her but there was nothing they could do. She turned to Falaster. "What about you? What are you going to do?"

"I thought I'd tag along, if you'll have me. I'm not worth much in a fight, but I memorized a map of this place and I know a few things that would be of use."

"Could you draw the map?" Farima asked. He nodded. She reached into her pouch and produced a graphite stick wrapped in sheepskin. "Give him the notebook we found," she said to Pariah.

Pariah handed it over and within a few minutes he had sketched a map on one of the blank pages. "Living quarters here. About a dozen cultists per our reports. Kitchen and dining room here. Guest quarters; that's probably where Kreeg is staying. This is a temple to one of the archdevils, and here is a secret door at the back of the temple that leads to a hidden shrine. If the duke wasn't upstairs, she'll probably be in this shrine. Escape tunnel in the temple here; let's not let her get to that. Finally, this is the vault."

"Ooh," said Pariah.

"No," stated Farima emphatically. Pariah smiled; she had said that mostly to needle the woman.

"Do you know if there are going to be other devils?" asked Rowan.

He pulled his crimson goatee absently. "Possibly. Maybe patrolling. More likely in the temple. Not many though. I imagine this fiendish gentleman," he pointed at the corpse in the room, "was the worst of them. Other than that, minor ones like imps."

"Let's find Overseer Kreeg first," suggested Ryland. "I want to be sure he's safe."

Pariah didn't like that idea. If Kreeg was working with the duke, then he could be a problem. And if he wasn't, Ryland might want to take him out of there, and losing Ryland's sword would hurt. However, she could see Ryland was adamant in his position so she said, "That seems like a good idea." The rest of the group had no objection.

"Let me attend to everyone's wounds," said Rowan. "After that we can head out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I run this, I'm using Roll20 to play out the battles. What's nice about that is I can retcon when I realize I forgot things. Forgot to account for Bless? Go back through the chat, look at the rolls, roll 1d4 for the close ones to see if I can retroactively make it a hit. Oops, Pariah would have used her Second Wind before that last short rest so she has more HP than I thought. And so on. I also use that against the party, not just for them.
> 
> I then gloss over the actual rolls for the story. I'm learning to mix things up: be willing to have actions happen out of order if it fits the narrative better, don't describe things that don't really matter, and so on. I still like the randomness of rolling the dice to add to the story.
> 
> Hey, did you know Prayer of Healing has a 10-minute casting time? I didn't, at least not until weeks after I fought that battle in the prison. Oops. I guess Rowan got some kind of divine inspiration or something. I thought it seemed overpowered for a Level 2 healing spell.
> 
> And, yes, they have pencils in my version of Baldur's Gate. From my research, the only thing required for the invention of the pencil is a deposit of very pure graphite. In our world that was discovered in England the 16th century. In Faerun, I guess that happened sometime before 1494 DR.


	11. A Terrible Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **The group, now six, investigate  
>  The duke's abhorrent goal.  
>  Unholy rites that desecrate  
>  Have stained her living soul.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Pariah examined one of the gold devil masks. It was real gold, fairly valuable. "What's with the mask?" she asked no one in particular. "The cultists under the bathhouse didn't wear these."

"Those people worshiped the Dead Three," said Rowan. "These people worship something else." To Falaster she said, "I think you said something about a devil?"

He nodded. "We found evidence that there is some kind of devil worship going on here, though we aren't sure which archdevil is involved."

Pariah put down the mask and searched the bodies but found nothing else of value. She looked over the group. Lythienne was looking a lot better after Rowan's ministrations and it looked like they were ready to go. She drew her dagger from the sheath at her back and held it out, hilt first, to Falaster. "Just in case," she said. He accepted it with a grateful nod.

"So," she said to the group in general, "I was half-joking before about disguising myself as the devil, but that might be a real option. And we could even use these robes and masks to disguise two others. The rest could be visiting guests or something. It might let us talk our way past anyone."

"I do not wish to talk," Farima said. "This place must be cleansed of these abominations and their disciples." Pariah was surprised to hear such bloodthirsty talk from someone who had been so insistent on negotiation.

"I agree," said Ryland.

"I'm with Pariah on this one," said Lythienne. "I'd much rather talk my way through than fight my way through."

Rowan looked off into the distance while she considered her answer. "I agree that I don't want this corruption in my city. I regret we didn't more aggressively root the cultists out of the bathhouse." She rubbed the coin of Tymora she wore around her neck. "Fortune favors the bold." She looked back at the group. "But we also don't know what is out there. Let's focus on our primary goals first -- Kreeg and the duke -- and then decide if we are strong enough to finish up this place."

Pariah asked, "Disguised or not?"

Rowan shook her head. "I say not. If we face them, we face them." Lythienne shrugged noncommittally.

"All right, either way. Let's go then," said Pariah

She and Lythienne led the way again, moving quietly through the hallways. They continued in the direction they had been going and eventually reached a four-way intersection. To the left was the door to the vault, but they turned right. Following Falaster's map, they reached the door to the guest quarters without meeting anyone. Ryland insisted on going through the iron door first, but Lythienne and Pariah were close on his heels.

Wrought-iron candlesticks topped with flickering candles lit the room, which was heated by a cast-iron stove with clawed feet. Across from the crackling stove was a modest desk with a matching chair. Other furnishings included a small table and chair for dining, a bed, an iron chest resting at the foot of the bed, and two tapestries. One showed spirits rising from a river as molten masses of flesh with vaguely humanoid heads and torsos, and the other depicted a dead man dangling like a marionette from hooked chains. The room was also empty of Kreeg or anyone else.

"Charming décor," Lythienne remarked dryly.

"This doesn't look like a prison cell," remarked Pariah.

"Clearly he cannot leave as he wills," said Ryland sharply. "We've seen the devils and cultists who guard this place. They simply have given him quarters that befit his status, even as a prisoner."

Pariah didn't bother to argue the point. Searching the desk and the chest didn't reveal anything more interesting than a silver pendant shaped like a gauntlet. "He is a priest of Torm," Ryland said when shown the pendant.

"Kreeg might be with the duke in her shrine," Falaster suggested. "We should go there next."

They headed back out into the corridor, this time heading past the kitchen and dining room, both empty, to reach a set of double iron doors inscribed with runes. Pariah recognized them as the same kind of runes as were used in the writing on her skin, but she couldn't read them.

She could hear the rhythmic sound of voices from the other side the doors. She pressed her ear against the door and could hear chanting in Infernal. She couldn't make out all the words but it was something about someone named Zariel winning the Blood War. Pariah had no idea what that meant.

"It sounds like some kind of mass," she said to the others. "I'm not sure how many people, but no more than a half dozen. Of course there may be more who just aren't talking right now."

The group got into position: Ryland and Lythienne on the doors, Pariah close behind, and the others further back. Ryland said, "Remember, if High Overseer Kreeg is in there, we must protect him." He mouthed a countdown and then they threw open the doors and rushed into the room beyond.

The temple was a huge, vaulted room lit by two rows of tall, wrought-iron candlesticks, each bearing nine candles. On the walls were nine tapestries. At the far end of the room, a seven-foot-tall statue of an angel wielding a longsword stood on top of a raised dais. The eyes of the statue glowed white. Four black-robed figures knelt before the dais chanting. They turned in surprise to look at the intruders, revealing the gold devil masks they wore. However, none of that was what held Pariah's attention. Instead, she was focused on the humanoid standing on the platform, as tall as the statue but covered in barbs, spines and hooks. It's gleaming eyes focused on her and its spiked tail lashed about in anger. In Infernal, it snarled, "Die, servant of Levistus!" as it flung a ball of fire at her.

Pariah was so surprised by its comment that she didn't dodge the attack. Pain blossomed as the flame swept over her. She had instinctively closed her eyes against the fireball, and when she opened them she narrowly dodged the mace of one of the cultists. Reflexively, she struck and her blade sunk deep into his chest. Energy flowed into her as he died.

These cultists weren't any more of a threat than the ones in the hall had been. Lythienne and Ryland made short work of the remaining three and they all advanced on the devil on the dais. A burst of magical missiles pelted it and it swatted at a cloud of Tymoran coins that harassed it like a swarm of angry wasps, leaving gashes in its purple flesh. Lythienne scored numerous small wounds with her silver dagger and Ryland struck powerful blows with his blades, but the devil had eyes only for Pariah. It slashed at her with nasty black claws and whipped its barbed tail at her. Even when an energy beam from Farima burned a hole clean through its shoulder, it didn't take its attention off the tiefling.

Pariah scored a minor wound, but its claws raked across her arm in response. As she tried to move away, its spiked tail slammed into her and wrapped around her body. She cried out as the spikes punched through seams in her armor and dug into her flesh. Cold energy burst from her and enveloped it, and that was enough to get it to release her from the grip of its tail. She adopted a defensive stance, calling up an icy buckler on her left hand to deflect its blows.

Its focus on Pariah meant it didn't try to defend attacks from the others. She saw Lythienne's dagger penetrate to the hilt in its back, and Ryland managed to cut its thigh nearly to the bone, but it barely seemed to feel the damage. Pariah took more wounds and her strength was fading. She retrieved the potion she had gotten from Thurstwell's room, thumbed off its stopper, and drank it down quickly. She felt its magic flow through her but she was still badly hurt.

She startled a bit when she heard Rowan's voice close behind. "Lady Tymora, I implore you to heal this warrior." Pariah felt her hand on her shoulder, and more warmth spread through her. Although the healing was appreciated, it distracted her. She missed a block, and the tail spikes dug into her side.

Lythienne slammed a powerful kick into the back of its knee, and it stumbled. Ryland followed up with a powerful blow from his shortsword, and the cloud of spectral coins shredded its shoulder. Pariah gritted her teeth against the pain of her wounds and continued to defend against its attacks.

Pariah was able to block or dodge its claws as it continued to relentless try to kill her, but its tail moved in unpredictable ways. Again it slashed, this time against her thigh, nearly knocking her off her feet. This time it was Farima's voice she heard behind her, mumbling something she couldn't understand. Again she felt a hand on her as healing warmth suffused her.

Lythienne plunged the silver dagger into the devil again and its guard dropped. Pariah saw her opportunity, slipped out of her defensive stance, and put everything she had into a powerful thrust. The blade pierced its skin easily, punched through its heart, or whatever passed for one in a devil, and came out the other side. The devil growled and tried to claw at her, but the life went out of its eyes as it collapsed to the ground, the weight of its body tearing the sword out of her hand before it melted into the usual noxious puddle.

Pariah quickly scanned the temple, but there were no other enemies. She bent down to recover her sword and then hesitated. The hilt rested in the liquefied remains of the devil. "Uh, am I going to die if I touch this stuff?" She had her gloves on but was still worried.

"No," said Ryland. "It's nasty and it reeks, but it's not harmful to touch."

"I believe it's also used by wizards and alchemists," Farima observed.

Pariah picked up her sword with two fingers and went to the bodies of one of the cultists to wipe it clean on his robe. "Is it valuable? Should we be collecting it?"

"I don't believe so," the Calishite said. "Well, it is valuable, but it must be collected carefully, not just scraped off the ground."

Pariah's wounds ached. She scanned the rest of the group and they were all panting, but nobody was injured except her. "Thanks," she said to Rowan and Farima. "Both of you."

They nodded at her. Ryland said, "It's strange it was so focused on you. I wonder why."

Pariah gave her best innocent shrug; she'd tell the others what it said later. She noticed that Falaster, standing towards the back of the temple, was studying her thoughtfully.

Ryland shifted his gaze from her to the statue on the dais and his face clouded. "I don't understand this statue. It looks like Lady Zariel, but why would a statue of her be in a temple of devil worship?"

"Zariel, yeah," said Pariah. "That was the chant. They were praying to her or something."

Ryland turned to her angrily. "Nonsense! Don't speak such sacrilege."

"No, it makes sense," said Farima. "I've studied the celestials extensively, and Zariel's fall and subsequent rise to archdevil is a rather interesting-"

"Shut your mouth," Ryland bellowed, his weapon pointed at her. "I will not hear another word of blasphemy against such a blessed figure!" He was shaking he was so angry.

"Some of the stories about outer planes beings get muddled," Falaster interjected quickly, moving to stand between Farima and Ryland's blade. "It's not uncommon to get one being confused with another. I'm sure she just made a mistake." Again, he was clearly lying, though Pariah could understand why.

"No," said Farima, oblivious to the emotions in the room. "I'm quite familiar with the-"

Falaster turned to her and said emphatically, "No! I'm sure you are mistaken. And your story is upsetting our friend with the sword, so perhaps this is not the time."

Farima paused, but finally even she understood. "I...suppose I could be remembering it incorrectly," she said reluctantly.

"And I'm sure you would like to apologize to the young man for your error, yes?"

Farima clenched her jaw but grated, "Yes. My apologies."

Ryland relaxed and sheathed his blade. "Very well. I have already tolerated attacks on the reputation of the hero Thavius Kreeg. I'll not have anyone speak ill of a symbol of courage and benevolence like Lady Zariel."

"Speaking of Kreeg," Rowan said quickly, turning to Falaster, "you said he might be in the secret shrine?"

"Yes," he said, relieved at the change in subject. He pointed to a section of wall. "Through there."

Now that she was looking for it, Pariah could see the faint outline of a hidden door. She was tired and aching, but their adventure was nearing the end. "Then let's go," she said.

Ryland led the way, pushing on the wall to pivot open the secret door. The group quickly followed him through the opening to find a much smaller room lit by a pair of tall wrought-iron candlesticks in the far corners. Nine candles burned atop each one, casting flickering light across a claw-footed altar carved from a single block of obsidian. A small flame erupted from the top of the altar, and Pariah thought the flame looked a bit like a winged humanoid. A gray-haired woman knelt before the altar.

The woman rose slowly as they entered the room and turned to face them. Pariah recognized this was the same woman represented by the wax statue on the main floor: Duke Thalamra Vanthampur. She was broad-shouldered and muscular. She was dressed in fine clothes and carried no weapons, but she emanated an aura of malevolence. Eyes with irises as black as the obsidian of the altar swept over the group, coming to rest on Pariah.

"Levistus dares strike at Lady Zariel through a peasant like you?" she scoffed. "His centuries of imprisonment have clearly broken his mind."

"Why do you speak of Lady Zariel?" Ryland demanded. "Why do you blaspheme her holiness with your profane acts?"

She looked at him and laughed. "Holiness? My lady freed herself of that disease when she rose to serve at Asmodeus's right hand. She took her rightful place as ruler of Avernus, and will soon be Queen of the Nine Hells."

Ryland roared and charged at her, blades flashing in the candlelight. Thalamra moved with unexpected speed, her calloused fist cracking into Ryland's jaw, staggering him. He recovered quickly, slashing her with his longsword. Her eyes flashed as she was wounded, and fire suddenly swirled around him in much the same way Pariah was able to do with cold.

Lythienne and Pariah had been caught by surprise by Ryland's charge, but they quickly closed the distance and joined the attack. She was strong and had some kind of magic, but she also had no armor and was not prepared for battle. After taking more wounds, the duke's eye's shifted behind Pariah. The old woman again moved with surprising speed, slipping around her towards another wall. She slammed into the wall, causing a section to pivot so she could slip through.

"Another door?" Falaster said in surprise. "Quickly! Don't let her get to the vault!"

Ryland was on the duke's tail and Pariah was close behind, but the old woman was lightning fast. Through the door was one of the corridors they had already traversed. Ryland pounded down the walkway after her, but his heavy armor slowed him. Pariah leapt across the sewer trench to run along the other walkway, but the woman reached the turn to the vault well ahead of them. Pariah had already seen the key in her hand and heard the sound of a heavy latch opening. Pariah came around the corner close behind Ryland, and just in time to see him run her through. She groaned and pitched forward through the opening door.

Pariah heard a shriek of surprise. Past the opening door was an old man in plain clothing carrying a lit candlestick. He looked down at the duke's body in horror, and then backed up fearfully when faced with Ryland's bloody sword.

"My lord!" Ryland exclaimed in relief. "You are safe!"

"Don't hurt me!" the man begged, his eyes widening even further as the rest of the group arrived.

Ryland quickly lowered his weapon. "It's all right, my lord. My named is Ryland Mantlemorn, one of the Hellriders. I'm here to rescue you."

It took the man a moment to understand what Ryland was saying. "Rescue me?" he repeated. "Oh, yes, of course. I'm so thankful. It has been awful here!"

Pariah could tell the man, who she assumed was Kreeg, was lying. She scanned the room to see four wooden tables with two small wooden coffers atop each one. Hanging on the wall opposite the door, just behind Kreeg, was a beautiful golden shield. However, what really stood out to her was the shadow of the man cast by his candlestick. The shadow didn't look like a man. Rather it appeared to be the shadow of a pudgy, horned fiend with small wings.

"Why are you here?" Pariah asked. "Here in the vault, I mean. They have a prison."

Ryland shot her a look of irritation, which Pariah ignored. Kreeg said, "Well, you see, I was...um...captured by the duke's guards. I was outside the city when Elturel fell. It was awful! My heart broke to see my city sucked into the darkness like that!" He wailed, "How could the gods let such tragedy strike the noble people of Elturel."

"Milil preserve us," Lythienne mumbled. "An actor that bad needs some rotten fruit thrown at him."

Not hearing her comment, Kreeg continued. "I fled to this city, only to be seized by brutish soldiers and dragged here. This terrible woman," he nodded at the body on the floor, "insisted she needed my help." He waved at the golden shield. "This is some kind of celestial artifact and she wanted me to ascertain its magical properties."

"Why you?" asked Pariah.

"I am a high priest of Torm. She thought that would give me some insight into this item."

"Before we continue," Rowan said, "perhaps we should attend to our wounded. Most of my magic is spent. Perhaps you could heal our wounds."

He shifted nervously. "Alas, I wish I could, but I have spent my prayers trying to divine the nature of this shield. Under threat of my life, of course. I would never help such a vile woman otherwise. I have nothing left for healing."

"Really," said Rowan, suspicion creeping into her voice. "That is unfortunate."

In frustration, Pariah said, "Am I the only one who sees that?" She pointed at the man's shadow. From the gasps of surprise, the others apparently had not noticed.

The man turned, but the light of his candle moved as he did and the shadow disappeared. Farima lit up her staff and the bright illumination cast his fiendish shadow on the wall before him. "Can you explain this?" she asked in the judgmental tone she usually reserved for Pariah.

The man stammered for a bit. "Oh, the horror," he exclaimed melodramatically. "The curse of this fiendish place must have corrupted me. Please, get me out of here so we can cleanse me from this evil."

"Who are you really?" demanded Farima.

"I am Thavius Kreeg," the man said desperately. "I swear!" Pariah didn't detect any outright dishonesty from him, but sensed some kind of deception.

"Stop!" said Ryland, interposing himself between Kreeg and Farima. "Again, you people cast aspersions on this man. I will not have it."

"Prove you are a priest of Torm," said Rowan. "Even when exhausted, you should be able to manifest some minor miracle." Her voice hardened. "Unless you are an imposter. Or you have committed evil acts that have caused Torm to abandon you."

"What?" he said, growing more fearful. "Of course not. How dare you question me? I do not have to prove anything. Hellrider, protect me!"

Ryland stood against the group, though Pariah could see his resolve was weakening. She said, "Where did you sleep when you weren't here with the shield?"

"Um, in the prison cells of course," he said. "Because I am a prisoner."

"No," said Falaster, still standing outside the door to the vault. "I've been there for several days. I never saw him."

The man was growing pale. "Well, that was, um, that was before the...I mean I was imprisoned there before you came. Now, they put me in another room. But it's still a prison cell."

"Ryland," Rowan said gently. "Something is going on. I don't think this is Kreeg."

"I know this is the overseer," he said, the doubt heavy in his voice. "I've seen him. I know this is him."

Pariah concentrated and changed her form to match the overseer's. "Appearances can be deceiving," she said before changing herself back.

Ryland looked conflicted. "That's not proof."

"Then let him show us," said Rowan. "Any priest knows a thousand small prayers that manifest as minor miracles. Show us one."

"I told you," Kreeg said. "I'm exhausted. I cannot do that. Perhaps you could take me to my room so I can rest."

"You mean back to your cell?" Lythienne said dryly. "You don't want us to take you out of here?"

He stammered, "I mean, of course I want you to take me out of here, I just meant...You are confusing me! I have done nothing wrong!"

Farima suddenly said loudly, "Who is speaking?" She looked around and then her eyes settled on the shield. She cocked her head for a moment and then stepped forward to kneel in front of the shield on the wall. "I am honored, my lord. How may I assist you?"

The rest of the groups exchanged puzzled glances. Farima said over her shoulder, "This man is Overseer Kreeg, but he is lying. He serves the Hells now, formerly through Duke Vanthampur. Rowan is correct; Torm has abandoned him. In fact, abandoned him long ago. He serves one of the archdevils now." She seemed to be listening. "This shield binds a celestial being who calls himself the Hidden Lord. Duke Vanthampur wanted to harness his power. He says Kreeg sacrificed Elturel to his evil master, but we can still rescue the city." She paused. "Is there no other way?" she said, and then she nodded. "He says that to save the city, we must take him to Elturel. In the Nine Hells."

There was a heavy silence over the group. "Yes, my lord," Farima said rising. "Of course." She reached out and lifted the shield off the wall. "Do you know how we might accomplish this, my lord?" she asked as she strapped the shield to her back. Pariah noticed the intricate and abstract pattern on the shield. In this light it almost looked like a face, moving in disturbing ways as the shadows shifted.

"If you are intent on going to the Hells," said Falaster, "I might be able to help you. Well, my master, Sylvira, anyhow."

"In Candlekeep?" Farima asked. He nodded. She said, "Then that is where I must go."

"Whoa!" said Rowan. "One step at a time. Kreeg, do you know about the Cult of the Dead Three?"

The man was sitting on the floor now, his head in his hands. "Lady Zariel, help me, please," he begged.

"See?" said Ryland. "He calls on the angel, Zariel. Clearly he does not serve the devils." From his tone, Pariah wasn't sure even he believed that.

Diplomatically, Falaster said, "Ryland, there _is_ an archdevil named Zariel. Perhaps she is not the angel who led the Hellriders, but she does exist. That is who he calls to."

Pariah was losing patience. She sheathed her sword, stepped forward and hauled Kreeg to his feet. "Enough!" she said to him. "Answer us. Truthfully. What do you know of the Dead Three?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment and then said in a despondent voice, "I know that Thalamra was behind them. They were to create disorder in the city. Undermine faith in the Flaming Fist. I don't know much more than that."

"Was she planning to sacrifice Baldur's Gate to the Hells? What was her deal with Zariel?"

Kreeg shrugged gloomily. "She didn't confide in me. I overheard her once talking about having power in Avernus, and I believe she was offering Baldur's Gate as payment."

"So the deal didn't die with her?" Farima asked sternly. He again just shrugged.

"Did..." Ryland started and then stopped. He started again. "Did you sacrifice Elturel?" Kreeg met his gaze and then just looked away. That was answer enough, and Pariah felt the anger in Ryland. She was afraid he might do something rash.

"Let's take him to Zodge," she said quickly to the others, hoping to forestall any action from Ryland. "Whatever else we do, I want to get out from under his thumb." She turned to Ryland and said, "And he should stand trial for his crimes, right? Let the full truth come out." He hesitated but then nodded at her.

"I still want to cleanse this place of its evil," said Farima.

Pariah groaned. To Kreeg she said, "How many devils are down here?"

He thought about it. "The big one in the temple. Another one in the prison. Three in the store room. I think that's it."

"Any other big threats?"

He shrugged. "Some of Lady Zariel's cult. Maybe a dozen or so. A couple of high priests. That's about it." His voice was dead, his face expressionless. He wasn't even looking at her anymore, just staring sightlessly into the distance.

She pulled the puzzle box from the sling on her back. "Do you know how to open this?"

He stared at it dully for a moment. "No," he said. "She never showed me."

"Where did you get it?" He looked at her and then looked away. He didn't answer. "Where did you get it?" she asked again, but he was gone, lost inside his own head.

She turned to the others. "Let's lock him in a cell, finish clearing this place, then we can take him to Zodge. All right?"

There was a general mumble of agreement.

She turned to Farima. "And I'm taking some stuff," she said emphatically. "It seems like fair payment for cleaning up a devil cult."

Farima grimaced. "Very well," she said. "But don't be greedy about it."

"Me? Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned, I run combats through Roll20 and then describe the battles creatively. That killing blow against the barbed devil was a crit with maximum damage on her rapier plus maximum damage on her Hex, all honest rolls. I use the "brutal critical" house rule, where crits do max damage on the second die. They rolled a total of 5 crits during the battle, and the devil managed one against Pariah.
> 
> I ended up giving Thalamra much higher HP because the battle was over too quickly. I also gave her a slightly higher movement speed so she could get away from them. I wanted her to flee to the vault to give them a reason to find Kreeg. I also decided that Falaster didn't know about the other secret door, giving her a chance to escape.
> 
> I'm struggling to find a way to make Rowan useful in combat. I don't want to risk the healer by having her run up to enemies, but her Sacred Flame is a joke against devils (who get advantage on saves). I suppose I'll have to arm her with a crossbow just so she can do something.
> 
> I'm going to switch to posting every two weeks for a bit. I write ahead of what I post -- I'm currently near the end of Chapter 20 -- in order to give myself some flexibility when life happens. Well, life has happened and I will have less time to write. My last three chapters have been slow to produce, and I'm likely to continue to be slow until the end of the year. Plus I expect to hit a wall in 2-3 chapters where I'm going to have to do some heavy planning, and that is going to take a while. I'd rather post reliably every two weeks then to post every week until I run out of material and then erratically after that.
> 
> I'll return to a weekly schedule once I have more writing time and start making more rapid progress. I'm hoping that will be around January, or even late December.


	12. A Hearty Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **The villa clear, the devil crew  
>  Subdued by spell and sword.  
>  Exhausted heroes set out to  
>  Collect their just reward.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Some fairly vulgar language coming up as they visit a tavern with...creative menu items.

The group filed into the prison. Falaster was sitting on a bunk in an open cell and he looked up as they entered. "How did it go?"

"Easy enough," said Ryland. "No more devils, just about a dozen of their worshippers."

"We also went back to the shrine and I blessed the altar," said Rowan. "I'm hoping that removes the infernal presence from this place. No problems in here I assume?"

Falaster gave a sour look to Kreeg, who was sulking in a locked cell. "He's been whining, but that's about all."

Farima approached the elderly woman's cell and opened the door, which was closed but not locked. "Lady Thione-Hhune, it is time to go. We will escort you to your home."

She sniffed haughtily at Farima. "It's about time. Honestly, this so-called rescue has been quite poorly executed. Grand Duke Ulder Ravengard is a personal friend. I shall file a complaint with him about how poorly the Flaming Fist has performed."

Pariah held back an eye roll. She reminded herself that the woman was scared and tired. She unlocked Kreeg's cell and said, "Let's go," grabbing his arm as he came hesitantly out of the cell.

They marched out of the prison and through the corridors to the storeroom. They proceeded up the stairs and through the house until they reached the study. There they found Amrik and Thurstwell still chained to the heavy coffee table. Amrik's jaw dropped when they entered.

"You're alive!" he exclaimed.

"Disappointed?" asked Pariah.

"Well, to be frank, a little bit."

"And Mother?" Thurstwell added hesitantly.

There was an awkward silence. Farima finally spoke up. "I'm afraid Duke Vanthampur refused to cooperate. We were forced to defend ourselves."

"Dead?" asked Amrik.

Farima nodded.

"Well, then," he said jovially as he turned to his brother, "as the eldest, that's good news for you!"

"Brother!" Thurstwell hissed in disapproval. He looked shaken, but Pariah was getting the impression he always looked like that.

Pariah unlocked their manacles and chained up Kreeg. When she was done, she turned to Amrik, who was stretching his cramped muscles. She said to him, "You were our prisoner before. You tried to run in the Low Lantern. What happened when you did?"

He studied her and then pointed to his side. "You stabbed me here."

"Yes. And then you tried to run here in the house. What happened then?"

His eyes narrowed but he pointed to his thigh and, with some amusement in his tone, said, "I believe that's when you stabbed me here."

She turned to Kreeg. "Do you understand?" His eyes widened, and he nodded emphatically. "Good," she said.

"Is your business done then?" Amrik asked.

"Yes," she said. "I'm afraid we left rather a mess downstairs though." She didn't bother mentioning the contents of the leather bag she had slung over her shoulder. She had found the bag downstairs and it had made it easier to carry the puzzle box, the book of Thurstwell's notes as well as platinum and gold coins from the vault and a few other knick knacks taken under Farima's disapproving eye.

"So we are free to go?" asked Amrik.

She paused and said, "One more favor, I think." A hint of anxiety crossed his face. She said, "Come to the courtyard. Tell the guards to let us go. I think there has been enough fighting."

"Oh, I can do better than that," he said, relief showing. He went to the curtain and drew it back and then turned a crank to open the window. "Hey!" he shouted. "You there! Our guests will be leaving. Do not interfere with them. Understand?"

She heard someone say, "Yes, my lord."

He looked back at her. "Satisfactory?" She nodded.

The group made their way to the front door. They exited cautiously, weapons sheathed but hands on hilts in case it turned out to be a trap. Pariah didn't think the guards were a threat but was concerned they might have called additional help. However, as they came out into the warm night air, the guards stood back warily. The group made it to the gate and out into the street without a problem.

Pariah relaxed as they exited the estate -- well, slightly anyhow. Although the streets of the Upper City we relatively safe, years of Outer City life caused her to remained vigilant as they followed Lady Thione-Hhune's directions to her family's home. It was located almost directly opposite to the direction they wanted to go, but that seemed like a small inconvenience. The old woman's stamina was fading by the time they reached Hhune House. It was smaller than the Vanthampur Villa, though still very impressive to Pariah. Without even a thank you, the noblewoman pushed through the gate to the grounds and shut the door firmly behind her.

The group exchanged glances, and then Pariah said, "Let's go see Zodge."

As they headed for the Manor Gate, the nearest gate to the Lower City, Lythienne said, "Anyone want to stop for a drink first?"

Pariah laughed, but then paused. It was still the dark hours of the early morning. "You know," she said slowly, "that's not a bad idea." The others looked at her skeptically and she explained. "It's better to hand him to Zodge, not some soldier who's going to take credit. And we need to tell Zodge what happened. Better to wait until after sunrise. He'll be at the station then. So let's stop for an early breakfast."

Rowan considered that. "I could eat," she admitted. She sighed, "Or sleep, but I suppose that can wait."

"There is a charming place called the Smilin' Boar on our way," Lythienne said brightly. "They have an extensive breakfast menu."

Rowan raised an eyebrow. "You keep using that word 'charming'. I feel like I have a different definition of that word than you do."

Lythienne chuckled politely. "I'm sure you will enjoy it."

The Manor Gate was one of the patriar gates, usually reserved for the nobles of the Upper City, but a flash of a Flaming Fist badge and the guards let them through. The Smilin' Boar was on the next corner after the gate. This part of the city was called Bloomridge, the nicest of the Lower City neighborhoods. There were more streetlamps, the streets were better maintained, and the buildings brightly painted.

The Smilin' Boar was less a tavern and more a nice little café. The furniture was newer and less beat up than the places Pariah was used to. The customers weren't exactly genteel, mostly being dockworkers who were either starting or ending their shifts at the nearby pier. There were a number of open tables, a bar, and behind that a kitchen with a human chef working industriously.

A 40-ish halfling woman with wavy auburn hair and the faint dwarvish look of a strongheart was carrying a tray of orders. Her face lit up when she saw the group. "Lythienne," she grinned. "You're out late."

"As always," Lythienne grinned back.

The halfling looked her over a bit more critically, noting the blood on her clothes. "You've been up to some mischief." She looked over the rest of the group. Her gaze rested briefly on Kreeg's chains and she looked back at Lythienne with raised eyebrows. Lythienne just shrugged in return.

"None o' my business," the halfling said. "Have a seat!" She nodded at one of the larger tables. "Menu's on the board." She headed to one of the tables to drop the orders off.

"Pariah," Lythienne said. "I can order for you. What are you in the mood for?"

To Pariah the board was just meaningless scribbles. "Meat and bread is what I usually go for."

Lythienne studied the menu. "Maybe a little yogurt as well?"

"Sure." She glanced at the rest of the group and was surprised to see Ryland and Farima turning red as they studied the menu. She felt waves of embarrassment radiating off them.

Lythienne caught it as well. "Oh, my," she said. "I'm afraid I forgot about this place. Perhaps we should go elsewhere."

"No," said Farima firmly. "This is fine." Ryland didn't say anything, but he was clearly uncomfortable. Pariah was confused.

The halfling came back. "Beer or coffee?" she asked.

"Coffee, I think," Lythienne said, looking at the rest of the group. Most of them nodded.

The halfling yelled over her shoulder at the chef, "I need a Big Black Crock!" She turned back and said, "Are you eating?"

"Yes," Lythienne said. She nodded at Pariah. "She'll have the Wedding Night. I'll take Umberlee's Gash and a Virgin's Bed."

The halfling nodded. "And the rest of you?"

Rowan said "Baby Gravy and a Sweet Little Crumpet."

Kreeg shook his head. "Nothing, thank you," he said weakly. He looked like he was going to be sick, but he'd looked at that since the villa.

Falaster said, "Funbags and Nutsacks, please."

Pariah was growing increasingly confused, but started to laugh.

It was Ryland's turn and he was tongue tied. Taking pity on him, the halfling said, "It's all right. You don't have to use the names if you don't want to."

He mumbled, "Cherry pie."

"Eat Her Cherry," the halfling confirmed. She turned to Farima.

Farima, her face beet red, glared at her and said defiantly, "I would like A Good Porking and Cum on my Tits."

"All right," the woman said. "Out in a few minutes."

Pariah was still laughing. "What in the Nine Hells?" she asked.

"Jentha," Lythienne said, nodding at the halfling, "has a somewhat ribald sense of humor. And this neighborhood is a bit...conventional, so she decided to stir things up when she opened the place." She turned to the others. "I do apologize," she said. "I genuinely didn't mean to embarrass anyone."

Ryland and Farima both shrugged, but the redness in their faces wasn't fading. Pariah felt a little guilty that she had laughed. She hadn't meant to make them feel worse. In an effort to change the subject, she said, "So what is the plan after we talk to Zodge?"

"I would like Sylvira to see that puzzle box," said Falaster. To Pariah he said, "I don't suppose you'd let me take it to her."

Pariah shook her head. "No, but I can come with you to Candlekeep."

"That would be acceptable."

Farima said, "And you said Sylvira might know how to get to Elturel?"

"Perhaps," he said. "If she doesn't, then there are a number of scholars and wizards at Candlekeep who would be of help."

"Then I will come as well," she said.

"Me too," added Ryland. "I have to do everything possible to save Elturel."

"Rowan?" Pariah asked her.

"I'd like to come along," she said. "At least as far as Candlekeep." She paused. "I'm not sure I'm willing to go as far as the Nine Hells, though."

"The temple won't mind if you leave?"

She shook her head. "Tymoran priests often come and go as the whim strikes. Following fate and all that."

All eyes turned to Lythienne. "Well," she said cheerfully, "no reason to break up the troupe. I'll come along, at least as far as the keep." Pariah frowned. There was something else there, not a lie but something hidden. She shook it off. This devil's sight was making her see secrets everywhere.

Rowan said, "I do have one concern. We are all pretty beat up. My prayers have kept us going, but magical healing doesn't take the place of good old-fashioned bed rest."

Ryland scowled. "We don't know how long we have to save the city. I say we should leave immediately."

Farima cocked her head as she listened to the voice only she could hear. "The Hidden Lord agrees. Elturel may have only days left."

"It's a five-day journey to Candlekeep," said Falaster. He studied Pariah for a moment. "Do you have any insight into Elturel's fate?"

Pariah was puzzled by the question. "Me? Why?"

"I thought you might have some contacts with better information."

"No," she said, still puzzled.

Falaster gave her a look of frustration. He ran his eyes over the rest of the group and then said to Pariah, "May I speak with you outside?"

"Um...I guess," she said hesitantly. She picked up her bag -- she didn't feel right leaving the puzzle box out of her sight -- and followed him out of the Smilin' Boar. He led her around the corner into an alley.

He turned to her. In a low voice he said, "Let me get to the point. Sylvira and I have been studying Outer Planes beings for a long time. I know infernal magic when I see it." Pariah felt a creeping uneasiness as he spoke. He assured her, "I'm not looking to reveal your secret. There are many reasons one might choose to enter into such an arrangement, but if you have a fiend's ear, you may be able to get information we could not."

Pariah's mind was whirling. She considered denying his statement, having seen how others had reacted when they found out, but she also realized that would be futile. He wasn't guessing; he knew. Besides, she detected no malice from him. Reluctantly she said, "He doesn't exactly come when I call."

"I'm not trying to pry," he said, "so I understand if you won't answer. But, if I might ask, who is your patron?" She gave him a puzzled look. "Who did you make the pact with?" he explained.

"He says his name is Levistus."

Falaster looked stunned. "I know the denizens of the villa referred to him, but I just assumed you were working with one of his subordinates. It never occurred to me you were dealing with him directly. Are you sure it's him?" He looked troubled.

"Yeah, why?" she asked. "What's the problem?"

"Well, that is a bit of a longer conversation, but for now I will say that Levistus is one of the archdevils, one of the nine most powerful devils in existence. Most pacts are with lesser beings. Archdevils rarely take interest in..." He trailed off.

"Filth like me?" she asked hotly.

"No," he said quickly. "That wasn't how I meant it. In fact, just the opposite. If he _has_ taken an interest in you, that implies you are quite important." He blow out a long breath. "Sylvira will definitely want to have a very long conversation with you and I hope to be present for that. But for right now, I return to my previous statement. If you have the ear of one of the archdevils, you may be able to find out what the current state of Elturel is. Has he told you anything?"

She debated about whether to answer him but finally said, "He has said he's not behind Elturel. He told me that Duke Vanthampur knew about Elturel and was maybe going to do the same thing to Baldur's Gate. And the puzzle box has something to do with saving both cities. Or something like that. He wants me to open it. Or find someone who can."

He pulled on his crimson beard thoughtfully. "Can you ask him how much time Elturel has? I agree with both of your friends: we need to hurry and yet we should not charge in without preparation. It would be easier to plan if we knew what kind of time span we were dealing with."

"I can try," she said uncertainly. She closed her eyes and said, "Levistus. Can you hear me?" Silence. "I need to talk to you." Nothing. With irritation she said, "I think you can hear me all the time. I think you just play games like this because you like to annoy me. How long does Elturel have left?" No response.

She sank more deeply into herself and the city around her faded away. "You have me on a path. I see that. It's like you are leading me through the city, but you just point me from corner to corner rather than telling me where we are going. Maybe if you tell me what the goal is, I know a better way to get there." A distinct absence of words.

"Am I supposed to bow to you?" she asked snidely. "Would you believe me if I did? If I shouted praise like those idiots in Zariel's temple, would you be fooled? I'm not your willing servant; I am your victim. We both know that. But you are useful to me and I'm useful to you. So be useful! How long does Elturel have left?"

The empty stillness around her was all she sensed. She was just about to give up, when the coldness swept over her. "You would give me orders?"

"No," she said carefully. "But don't pretend I'm one of your brain-dead cultists either. I have value to you. But that only works when you tell me what I need to know." She knew she was playing a dangerous game and her heart was thundering in her chest.

Darkness and cold and anticipation and then, "Time does not pass the same in the Hells as it does in the Prime," said the voice that put ice in her veins. "It is not the predictable, linear ticking of some mechanism. However, to put it in terms your tiny mortal mind will understand, Elturel will not fall if you take time to be ready for what is ahead. The souls of that city are doomed without intervention but, by the measure of your childish view of time, that doom is many weeks distant."

"What about the shield?" she asked. "Whatever is inside that said days."

He chuckled. "What is a week but many days? So it is not incorrect, but that doesn't mean it's the truth. Who would you trust: some random piece of sapient metal or your lord and master?"

She ground her teeth. "Thank you for your help," she forced out. No reason not to show at least a little courtesy to a powerful immortal evil.

The world around her swam back into focus as she opened her eyes. Falaster was staring at her intently. "Weeks," she said, cold fog coming from her mouth. She shivered even though the night was warm. "He said Elturel has weeks. And that we should prepare for what's ahead." She shook her head. "Talona's tits, I just know he's going to ask me to go to Elturel."

Falaster reached out to squeeze her shoulder. "Thank you. And I want to assure you, your secret is safe with me. It's not mine to share."

"Thanks," she said. "For what it's worth, the others knew. Rowan. Lythienne. Farima."

"Oh?" he said in surprise. "And they are comfortable with it?"

She laughed bitterly. "Gods, no. Farima hates me. Well, doesn't _hate_ me but feels something pretty close to that. Lythienne doesn't seem to care either way. Rowan..." She thought about it. "She's more complicated. She definitely doesn't like what I did, but it's more like she's worried about me."

"Ryland?"

"He does _not_ know," she said firmly. "I think he'd have a problem with it." She furrowed her brow. "Was what you said true? About Zariel? I mean I don't know who that is, but he seemed pretty upset."

Falaster looked towards the door of the Smilin' Boar. "Well, that's another long story, but yes. The Hellriders say that the angel Zariel, who led them on an assault into the Nine Hells, died in battle there. In reality, she swore fealty to Asmodeus and became one of the nine archdevils. The leadership of the Hellriders canonized her and has been covering up their own history for 140 years, so I can see how one of the younger recruits would be scandalized by the truth. I suggest we don't push it with the young man."

She nodded. "Agreed."

He motioned to the door. "Shall we?"

They went back inside to find the halfling serving out their breakfast dishes. Ryland was pouring everyone coffee from a large earthenware pitcher. Lythienne had a plate of salmon arranged to look like female genitalia, and a piece of toast with a splash of cherry jam. Rowan was just tucking into a plate of baked eggs in cream sauce and a honey-soaked biscuit. Ryland was looking suspiciously at a piece of cherry pie. Farima had a plate of ham, bacon and small sausages, and a shallow bowl with a peach, peeled and halved, served cut side down. The peaches were drizzled with heavy cream. At Falaster's empty seat was a pair of vaguely breast-shaped meat pies, and round pastries containing minced pecans. Pariah sat down to a plate with an eight-inch sausage thrust through the hole of a bagel, with a generous dollop of yogurt on one end.

As they started to eat, Falaster said, "It looks like Elturel is not in imminent danger. We can proceed with caution, though certainly the people of the city would appreciate the earliest rescue that can be mounted."

"And how do you know that?" Ryland asked suspiciously.

Pariah spoke up. "Falaster was right. I did have someone I could ask. He said Elturel has at least several weeks."

Ryland's suspicions grew. "And this person happened to be standing right outside this building?"

Pariah met his gaze. "You know magic is a thing, right? That you don't have to be next to someone to talk to them? I was able to contact him and ask."

Ryland didn't seem satisfied. "And who is this contact?"

"Someone who would know what happened," she said firmly.

"It's fine, Ryland," interjected Lythienne as a look of understanding crossed her face. "It is someone who would know."

"Someone you trust?" he asked her.

Lythienne equivocated a bit, and then said, "Well, as long as it is in his best interest."

"Which," Pariah added, as much to the rest of the group as to Ryland, "I'm starting to believe it is."

There was an awkward stillness as the others digested this information. Rowan interrupted the silence by saying, "Then we can rest for a few days. Let our injuries heal." She sighed. "And if there is a possibility we may be fighting more of those things, we should probably do some shopping."

"Farima," Pariah said abruptly, "I'll go with you. To Elturel, if that's where you have to go."

The woman looked at her suspiciously. "Is that what your...contact suggested?" she asked derisively.

"No. I'm not going to lie, I think he'll ask me to. That's why I wanted to say it now. Before he does." Pariah looked at Farima earnestly. "I want to save the people of Elturel. I mean that. They are innocent in all this. I'll go with you. Even to the Hells."

A number of emotions crossed Farima's face, and Pariah could feel her conflict. "Thank you," the woman finally managed to say, in a tone that was half gratitude and half suspicion. "I appreciate that."

With that out of the way, the group dug eagerly into their food.

* * *

The eastern sky was light as they came out of the Smilin' Boar. Pariah felt the exhaustion hit her all of a sudden. The meal and the coffee had helped, but somehow the rising sun was a reminder she hadn't slept and her energy started to fade. Plus, as Rowan had said, prayers didn't so much heal injuries as postpone them. She still needed rest.

The mornings were Pariah's favorite times to walk the streets of the city. The nighttime thugs had retired, and the daytime crowds hadn't gathered yet. The morning sun made the city look cleaner as it burned off the thick fog that usually rolled in from the sea. Baldur's Gate almost seemed like a decent place to live in the light of dawn.

They arrived at the Flaming Fist barracks near the Basilisk Gate without any trouble. "Perhaps I should wait out here," said Ryland nervously as they neared the barracks. Pariah remembered that he was apparently wanted by the Fist.

"Sure," she said, looking at the others for their objections. "We don't really need him, right?"

"I don't think so," said Rowan. "We have all the information necessary."

With a nod, he headed off to an alley nearby to wait. The rest of them entered the barracks. A dwarven sergeant with a braided beard and a face full of scars eyed them critically. "Whaddya want?" he demanded.

"We are here to see Captain Zodge," said Pariah.

"Zodge ain't here. Come back later." He turned away from them.

That was disappointing. "When will he be here?"

"How should I know?" he said over his shoulder. "He'll be here when he's here."

Maybe it was the fatigue, the ache of her wounds, or just her general orneriness but Pariah had had enough. She grabbed the dwarf by the shoulder and whirled him back around. She wasn't all that much taller than he was and had far less muscle, but she gave him her most intimidating glare anyhow. "We are here at Zodge's direct orders to report on two cults in the city we have shut down. This man," she pointed at Kreeg, "knows what happened at Elturel and may help stop it from happening here. So I'm going to ask you nicely one more time: Where. Is. Zodge?"

He met her defiant stare for a moment, and then looked over the rest of the group. "Fine," he grumbled. "But Zodge will have your ass if you're interrupting him for nothing. Wait here." He headed through a door deeper into the barracks.

After a few minutes, Zodge came through that same door, clearly not in a good mood. "Who in the Hells is interrupting my breakfast?" he demanded. He looked over the group and, as his eyes came to Kreeg, he hesitated. "Hmmph. You have the high overseer of Elturel in chains. There better be a good story here. Come on."

He led them into the same office they had seen him in before. He sat down at his desk and pointed at Pariah. "You! You were the mouthiest one before. Report! And make it quick. My porridge is getting cold."

Pariah hadn't expected to be put on the spot like that, but she coped. "Your agent sent us to a bath house. The...uh..."

"Nymph's Garden," Lythienne offered.

"Yeah. That one. Anyhow, under that was some sewer tunnels. A cult worshipping the Dead Three was set up there, run by Mortlock Vanthampur, Duke Vanthampur's son." Zodge made an interested grunt, but didn't interrupt. She continued. "He told us his mother was behind it. We went to the Vanthampur place and she was not only behind the Dead Three cult, but we also found a cult worshipping the devil Zariel in tunnels below her house. We also found Kreeg there. He sacrificed Elturel to Zariel, though we might be able to rescue the city from the Hells. And it looks like Duke Vanthampur has made a deal like that about Baldur's Gate." She hesitated. "Um, that's about it."

Zodge raised his bushy eyebrows. "Well, you've all had a busy couple of days." He looked over the group. "I see none of the Vanthampurs here. Did you kill them all?"

"No," said Pariah. "The duke wouldn't surrender; she is dead. Two of the sons, Thurstwell and Amrik, are still at their house. Um, I guess we didn't think to bring them." That seemed like a mistake in hindsight. "We let Mortlock go because he helped us by telling us about his mother. He has probably left the city."

Zodge snorted. He looked over Falaster. "And who are you?"

"Falaster Fisk, my good captain," he said with a smile. "I am a scholar from Candlekeep who also has a residence in Little Calimshan. I have been a prisoner of the Vanthampurs for quite some time so I can attest to the veracity of the statements of Duke Vanthampur's activities. A fellow prisoner was Lady Satiir Thione-Hhune of Hhune House. You may wish to speak with her as well."

Rowan said, "With Duke Vanthampur's death, both cults are done. The murders should stop."

"And," Falaster added, "I imagine much of the unrest in this city that has occurred in the last few years may have been an indirect result of the corruptive energies produced by the devil worshippers. One might hope that crime rates will drop significantly now that they are gone."

"So," said Lythienne. "It seems our business dealings have come to a close. Would you agree?"

Zodge scowled at the group and then bellowed, "Hjolkam!"

The dwarf stuck his head in through the doorway. "Yes, captain."

Zodge pointed at Kreeg. "Put him in a cell. And send a squad to Vanthampur Villa. Search the place top to bottom and arrest everyone." The dwarf nodded and exited. "The rest of you, take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow I want you to head to the Shrine of the Suffering. The priest there says there is some creature in his basement. Take care of it."

The group looked at each other in confusion. "Why are you all still here?" Zodge demanded.

"Captain Zodge," said Farima coldly. "We had an agreement. We have fulfilled our end of it. We expect you to do the same."

"Do you really?" he snarled. "Well, I'm understaffed and overworked so I guess we both are going to be disappointed. You are going to help me out, or maybe I'll just start looking into that priest's murder again."

Pariah felt her anger rising. Her hand fell to the hilt of her weapon as she said, "Listen, you son of-"

"Captain," Lythienne said, putting a hand out to steady Pariah. She gave Zodge a dazzling smile. "We have other business directly related to the disappearance of Elturel. We need to attend to that urgently."

Her flirty attitude didn't move him. "Elturel can rot in the Abyss for all I care," he said. "I need bodies. You are here. You are going to help."

Everyone started talking at once, and Pariah could feel Zodge's anger rising as fast as her own was. She was wondering if this was going to come to blows, and whether they were strong enough to take on the entire barracks, when a voice behind her bellowed, "Commander in the room!"

Zodge's face paled as he looked at the doorway, and he snapped to attention. Pariah turned to see two plate-armored men standing on either side of a gray-haired woman who radiated authority. She was also fully armored and wore a white cloak. "Outside," she said to the man next to her and the two men exited the room. "Close the door," she added, and they did.

She scanned the group. "Are these the maniacs who've stirred up every nest of rats in this gods-forsaken city?"

"Commander Portyr!" said Zodge nervously. "I was told you wouldn't be in Baldur's Gate for at least another tenday."

"That's what the city's government wanted you to think, captain," she replied. To the others in the room she said, "I trust you've been adequately compensated for your efforts?"

"No!" said Pariah quickly. "In fact, Zodge is welching on his agreement with us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is this true, captain?"

"No, commander," he stammered. "These people...well, yes, we had an agreement...but we are short handed so I..."

"Was planning to cheat them of their pay? Was planning to threaten them with criminal charges?"

Everyone in the room was shocked, except for Falaster who just looked confused.

"I don't know what you mean, commander," said Zodge, still at attention but with a bead of sweat gathering at his forehead.

"I believe you were planning to tell me they murdered a priest of Tymora, correct? Or maybe I have that wrong." Her voice grew hard. "Perhaps you were going to report they hunted down a serial rapist who has been preying on your city for months if not years, and they did your job for you." She slowly started to walk towards him. "And then went on two destroy two cults that were operating under your nose, saving countless lives!" She was nose to nose with him now. "Is that what you were planning to tell me, captain?" she demanded.

"Yes, commander," he said weakly.

"Get out," she sneered. "Your porridge is getting cold."

"Yes, commander." He scurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

The woman sat in the chair he had vacated. She motioned to the other chairs in the room. "Please," she said politely, her anger gone. The group took their seats nervously. She said, "My apologies for the captain's behavior. To be fair, the Flaming Fist has been struggling lately due to the rise in crime from a number of sources, not to mention the recent loss of their commander to the trouble in Elturel. That does not excuse all of their behavior, of course. I have been sent to take over the Flaming Fist and whip them into shape."

The door opened again and one of the heavily armored soldiers entered, his mailed fist firmly gripping the arm of a scared-looking Ryland. "Sergeant," the commander chided gently. "Not so rough. Mr. Mantlemorn is not a prisoner. He is a guest."

The man released his grip. "Pardon me, commander." He nodded in apology to Ryland and exited the room.

"Have a seat," the commander said. "Do not worry. The charges against you have been dropped. And the other man involved in the misunderstanding has recovered from his injuries."

"Thank you," Ryland said, his fear changing to confusion.

She took a deep breath and let it out as she surveyed the group again. "I supposed I should introduce myself. I am Liara Portyr, commander of the Flaming Fist. I wish I could have been here sooner, but I was stationed in Chult. The trip is somewhat arduous, even with the benefit of magic. However, I still have extremely good sources of information here and it seems I arrived at the perfect time. I already know of your actions at the bath house and Vanthampur Villa. The Flaming Fist appreciates your help. And, since I gather you are not interested in continuing to serve with us, you may return your badges now." She pointed at the desk. "Your full pay will be given to you when you leave."

Pariah pulled her badge out of her pocket and placed it on the desk, soon to be joined by three others. She still wasn't sure what was happening, but it seemed like the woman was being honest and fair with them and that was a relief.

Portyr studied them for a bit longer before saying, "I have been recalled to Baldur's Gate by the Council of Four -- though I suppose it's the Council of Two right now -- to take over the Flaming Fist, hopefully just on a temporary basis. We all hope that Grand Duke Ravengard is still alive, wherever Elturel has disappeared to." Pariah sensed genuine worry from the woman.

"I understand," the commander continued, "that you think you may be able to rescue Elturel. Is that correct?"

"Perhaps," said Falaster. "We have two pieces of evidence -- this shield," he pointed to the shield on Farima's back, "and a puzzle box of infernal origin -- that lead us to believe that. We would need to consult with Sylvira Savikas in Candlekeep to be sure, and to formulate a plan if our suspicions are true."

"And do you think Baldur's Gate is in danger?"

Falaster pulled at his beard. "I am unsure. Duke Vanthampur had apparently been intending to sacrifice the city to the archdevil Zariel just as High Overseer Kreeg sacrificed Elturel. However, we do not know the terms of her deal or, more importantly, if the contract was broken upon her death." He looked thoughtful. "It might be helpful if, under the supervision of your soldiers of course, I could examine any of Duke Vanthampur's possessions for more evidence."

She nodded. "I can arrange that. Anything else?"

"I understand the duke previously oversaw the sewage system in this city. I am concerned she might have set up some kind of magical device designed to transport the city to the Hells as Elturel was. I would suggest searching the sewers for any suspicious activity."

Portyr gave a sharp laugh. "The sewers are riddled with suspicious activity. However, I will see if I can free some squads to investigate. Are you planning to stay in the city?"

Falaster said, "For a few days, but I feel we must head to Candlekeep quickly to find more information. If I can get permission to leave the city, you can find me at my residence in Little Calimshan until then. If you find any information or artifacts after I leave, perhaps you could rush them to Sylvira Savikas at Candlekeep. She and I will be able to inspect anything suspicious."

She nodded. "Very well. I will provide you all with passes to leave the city as well as horses and a cart full of supplies for the trip."

"That is very generous of you, commander," Falaster said in astonishment.

"Not at all," she said. "If you can save Elturel and Baldur's Gate, then I will be grateful." She hesitated. "And Grand Duke Ravengard is a family friend. I would be doubly grateful for his safe return. When do you leave?"

"We need a few days to rest and recuperate," he replied. When she started to speak, he said quickly, "And, based on our information, we are confident that we can spare that time without risking Elturel's fate."

She nodded with satisfaction. "And the reward Zodge promised you?"

"Two hundred gold each," said Pariah. "For the four of us," she pointed to indicate the other three.

"Very well," she nodded. "Did you need anything else from me?"

The group looked at each other. The change in attitude was still disorienting them. "Not at the moment, I believe," said Lythienne.

"If you do, you'll find me here," Portyr said. "Sergeant!" she shouted. The same man who had escorted Ryland opened the door. "Provide eight hundred gold pieces to these people." To the group she said, "When you decide on your date of departure, come see me a day or two in advance so we can arrange your travel. I'll have your papers ready by then as well. Mr. Fisk, if you wish to stay behind, I can have your exit papers ready immediately so you can return to Little Calimshan." She stood. "And again, thank you for what you have done for Baldur's Gate, and what I hope you will be able to do in the future."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I said I wasn't going to publish this week, but then I realized I should go ahead and post this chapter. It wraps up the current story arc and this is a much better spot to slow down the pace. This time I really am going to start posting every two weeks for a while.
> 
> Man, I wanted them to get that mace +1 but I just couldn't justify it in the story. This is the problem of being both the DM and the player: I don't want them to beeline to all the treasure, but I still want them to get a few things. However, they are all Dexterity based so want finesse weapons. The only one who might benefit from it would be Rowan, and as mentioned I don't want the healer to be a melee fighter.
> 
> Their trip to the Smilin' Boar was unplanned. I just reasoned that stopping to wait for sunrise made sense, and the place is located right near Hhune House. After deciding to have them stop there, I read the description in the module and realized I'd have to get creative. I'm actually kind of a prude, but I had tremendous fun coming up with those menu selections.
> 
> And, yes, they have bagels in Baldur's Gate. As far as I'm concerned, it's canon now.


	13. A Familiar Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **With bodies healed the party takes  
>  The road to Candlekeep.  
>  But injured hearts can also ache  
>  From wounds unseen but deep.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Even to the casual eye, something seemed a bit off about the Church of Last Hope. It was a simple stone building, large and lacking any ornamentation. Despite its name, the symbol of no god hung from the simple wooden doors that led into the building. It was less of a church and more of an asylum for those whose psyches had cracked under the stress of anything from day-to-day life in Baldur's Gate, to interactions with forces and beings the mortal mind was not able to comprehend. A pall of sadness hung over it. Some said it was from the spirits of those who had taken their own lives, while others thought it was a manifestation of the broken minds housed within.

Pariah tried to ignore the gloomy feeling in the air. She was sitting on the bench seat of the mule-drawn wagon Commander Portyr had secured for them, next to Falaster who would be driving. The wagon was loaded with supplies, both for the journey to Candlekeep and for their possible journey beyond. The others sat astride horses, Farima holding the lead to Rowan's empty mount. Rowan had wanted to visit the church on their way out of town to see an acquaintance and to donate some of the money they had liberated from the Vanthampurs. Pariah remembered her mentioning she knew someone here, though Rowan hadn't spoken of him other than that one time.

It was a five-day trip to Candlekeep. Pariah hadn't been outside the city since her mother abandoned her, and she was both excited and a little nervous about the trip. She knew the city and its ways by heart. It wasn't until today that it finally hit her that she was going into a foreign environment, and that was just the trip to Candlekeep. She had no idea what to expect if she made good on her promise to accompany Farima to the Nine Hells.

Her offer had been genuine at the time but she was starting to have second thoughts. If it was necessary to save Elturel, then she would do it, but the Hidden Lord refused to give any hard information. All he would say to Farima is that it was necessary to take the shield to Elturel, and that the path forward would become clear when they arrived. She hoped the contents of the box would shed more light on what needed to be done.

She and the other women had discussed Levistus and his role in this. They had all agreed, even Farima, that it would make sense for Levistus to work against Zariel and try to interrupt her plan, so he might be an ally of sorts. Of course he might also be trying to trick them into sacrificing Elturel to him instead so they would have to be wary.

Falaster had not been available much since their encounter with the Vanthampurs. He had been helping Portyr try to work out the duke's plan for Baldur's Gate. Nothing obviously pertaining to her goals had been found in her residence, though Falaster was taking a few books and artifacts to Candlekeep to be studied by Sylvira. Neither the duke's sons nor the servants had volunteered any useful information. The Flaming Fist simply didn't have the manpower to search the sewers to see if she had another secret headquarters.

The unfortunate part of Falaster's absence was that Pariah hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him about her agreement with Levistus. She wasn't likely to be able to talk to him on the ride because of Ryland's presence. She still didn't think it was a good idea to let the boy know about the archdevil. She might have to wait until Candlekeep, but that might be better anyhow. Falaster had said that Sylvira was the real expert, so she might have some insight into Pariah's situation.

The main door to the church opened and Rowan exited the building. She rejoined the group, staring at nothing with a troubled air about her. "That was fast," Lythienne said.

Rowan looked up at her sadly. "He's not taking visitors today," she said. "He's...doing as well as can be expected. But he has good days and bad days." She mounted her horse, her face still a mask of concern. "Let's go," she said dully.

They returned to the main road that led to Wyrm's Crossing, Pariah's former neighborhood and the bridge that led south out of the city. Ryland and Lythienne led the way. Behind them came the wagon, and trailing that were Rowan and Farima.

They were prepared for the battles they knew would be ahead. Most of them sported new silvered weapons, some had acquired better armor, and they all carried healing potions. Farima was unhappy about the valuables Pariah had liberated from the Vanthampur estate, but her objections faded when much of that money was spent on equipment that would help them fight any devils that faced them and might contribute to the salvation of Elturel.

They had discussed selling the fire breathing potions they had gotten from beneath the bath house; Pariah had forgotten they even had them. Devils and demons, their most likely opponents. could not be hurt by fire, but in the end they decided to keep them. They might meet more vulnerable enemies, and the money from selling them would do them little good.

As the caravan approached the bridge, Pariah felt herself becoming nostalgic. She had stayed away from her old neighborhood since she'd left. It was too hard seeing people she used to know turning away from her. She had spent most of her time since then in Sow's Foot, a neighborhood that tended to attract the outcast races such as lizardfolk and the peoples of the Underdark.

They followed the road into Wyrm's Crossing proper. The sturdy stone bridge they crossed was wide, but ramshackle wooden tenements, taverns, and shops crowded both sides of the span, reducing the path to a narrow road barely wide enough for two wagons to pass each other, and in some spots even narrower than that. More buildings clung to the sides of the bridge, anchored to each other or cantilevered over the water. The bridge led to Wyrm's Rock, the Flaming Fist fortress set on a rocky islet in the middle of the river. Past that, another bridge led from the fortress to the mainland beyond.

Being back in her old neighborhood forced old memories to the surface, memories she wasn't prepared to deal with. Maybe that's why she missed it. She knew this place, knew how things worked, and yet her senses were dull. She didn't even realize anything was happening until Rowan shouted, "The bag! He took the bag! The one with the puzzle box!"

That shook Pariah out of her reverie. She whirled around to see Rowan pointing a figure disappearing into the crowd.

"After him," Farima cried.

"No!" Pariah shouted. "Don't. You'll never catch him."

"If he got the box, we must retrieve it," said Falaster, urgency in his voice.

"I know," she said. "I'll go."

"I'll go with you," said Lythienne.

"No," Pariah said. "You'll just scare him off."

"Him?" asked Farima.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I know who it was." She stood on the toe board of the wagon and scanned the crowd until she spotted what she wanted. "You! Come here."

The boy who had been eyeing the group approached. "You know who I am?" she said. The boy nodded. She indicated the rest of the group. "This is my crew now. They are off limits, understand?" The boy looked them over and nodded again. She flipped him a gold coin that he snatched out of the air. "Make sure the rest of the Crossers know." She flipped him another coin. "And this is for the Rats. Give it to them with the same message. Got it?" He nodded, and scurried ahead into the crowded roadway.

"You should be fine now," she said to the rest of the group while mentally cursing herself. She should have known to pay the tolls. She was so used to being a local that she had forgotten she was now an outsider. "Keep your eyes open anyhow, in case someone doesn't get the message." She jumped down. "I'll meet you on the other side of Rivington."

"Are you sure you don't need help?" asked Rowan.

"I'm sure. Thanks."

She pushed into the crowd, her senses now alert, her hand on the hilt of her rapier. She didn't intend to draw it; it was just a signal that she was not someone to be messed with. The locals recognized her and scattered out of her way. It broke her heart to see that. These same people used to greet her with smiles and jokes and claps on the back, but ever since that night she was something else, something to fear, and that was never what she had wanted to be to them.

She reached her destination, an unassuming collection of scrap wood shoved up against the edge of the bridge. To the casual eye there wasn't even an entrance, and that was true from street level. She knew that to get inside you had to climb over the side of the bridge, pull yourself hand-over-hand across the underside and up through a hidden door. However, she had another trick, one of her recent gifts from Levistus. She wasn't sure it would work if she couldn't see her destination, but she knew the inside of this building better than any patch of ground in the city. She closed her eyes, visualized the interior of the shack, and stepped towards the wall. A cloud of ice crystals swirled around her and she disappeared.

Pariah reappeared inside with another whisper of icy wind. She opened her eyes and, in the dim light of a candle, she saw a small room. There was a straw mattress in one corner, a low table, and an open wooden box with a few meager possessions. The man from the street sat on the floor, pawing through the contents of the bag he had taken. He jumped to his feet at the sound of her entrance and whirled on her, dropping the bag and brandishing a billy club he had taken from a Flaming Fist soldier three years ago. He froze when he saw her face, and then his eyes dropped. He lowered the weapon but said nothing.

"Hi, Janshi," she said.

"Hey, Mouse," he mumbled back, his eyes still on the floor. She could feel his nervousness.

It tore her up to see him react to her like this. "I need that bag back," she said gently. "I'll buy it off you." She held out a handful of coins.

He stared at the money for a second and then held out a hand. "Sorry," he said quietly. "Didn't know they were with you." The coins clinked heavily as she dropped them into his open palm. He kicked the bag over. She could see the puzzle box inside and felt relief.

As she looked at him she realized that she might never see him again. Her life was about to take a very strange turn, and she knew she might not ever be back here. She didn't want it to end like this. As he secreted the coins into his clothing, she sat on the floor. She felt frustrated but tried to keep her voice calm as she said, "Dammit, Jan, you've known me nearly my whole damn life. You were my best friend. Why do you treat me like a stranger now? An enemy?"

He glanced at her and then looked away again. "I dunno," he mumbled.

Casting around for a safe subject, she said, "You remember when we first met?" Again he met her gaze for a moment and he nodded. She said, "I was still on my own, remember? I think I was hiding in a garbage pile. I was hungry and tired, too tired even to cry. Just scared and alone." She smiled at the memory. "You had a moldy hunk of bread. You split it in half and gave me some. Even gave me the bigger piece. I was scared to take it but I was so hungry. So I grabbed it and ate it as fast as I could. Nearly choked on it. Remember that?"

She felt him relax a little bit. "Yeah," he said as he sat on the floor too.

"You talked to me." She smiled sadly at the memory. "Like I was some scared puppy. You calmed me down. Made me feel like I wasn't alone. Remember?"

"Yeah," he said again.

She felt her voice start to break. "I'm the same person. The same person from before that stupid night. I just wanted to save you all. And it's never been the same. And it's not fair!" She said that last bit louder than she meant to, and she felt tears in her eyes. "I'm not asking you to drop to your knees or tell me I'm a hero. I never wanted that from anyone. I'm just asking you to be my damn friend, like you always were!"

He didn't say anything, just hugged his knees tightly.

"You've always had my back. Always. The rest of the crew, fine. Fuck 'em. It sucks after all I've done for them over the years, but I can take this bullshit from them. But not from you. You are the one person I could always trust. And I just don't understand why you are treating me like this. I'm alone again and I hate it!"

He stayed silent and she couldn't talk anymore. This had been stupid. A mistake. Whatever happened was over, and her old life was gone. It was like someone dying. You just had to move on, accept that the person wasn't around anymore.

She was about to get up when he mumbled something she didn't quite catch.

"What?" she said sharply.

"I didn't think you'd leave," he said just loud enough for her to hear. "I mean I know I wasn't that nice to you. I just was scared. You say you're the same, but I don't know. You got those black eyes and that weird writing and that magic. And I saw what you did to those things. And I was scared. But I thought we'd figure it out. In time. But then you left. And I didn't know what to do. Because you were just gone."

"Of course I left," she said hotly. "Why would I stay? Everyone treated me like shit. Even you!"

"I know," he said.

"And it's not like I was hard to find if you really wanted to," she said angrily. "Just look for the bitch with the horns. It's not like there's a lot of us around."

"I know," he said. "And I looked. You were in Sow's Foot, right?"

"Yeah," she said in surprise.

He shrugged. "See? I knew. I just didn't know if you wanted to see me. And then you were gone from there too. And now." He waved a hand vaguely at her. "Now you're all high class and shit."

She laughed bitterly. "You think this is high class?" she asked.

"I don't know. Isn't it?"

She leaned back against the wall and stretched her legs out. "Yeah, I guess compared to the shit we grew up with. But this isn't high class. You should have seen the Upper City place I was in a few nights ago. A 'villa' they called it, whatever that means. Fancy word for 'house' I guess. They had a butler. I don't know what butling is, but I guess this guy does it. Fancy statues. Fancy dishes. Fancy clothes. Probably wipe their asses with silk hankies. Maybe rich people don't even shit at all. Probably have servants do it for them." She furrowed her brow. "Maybe that's what butling is."

He looked sidelong at her. "You hanging out in the Upper City now?"

Annoyed, she said, "No, that's not what I'm saying. In fact we were..." She realized the real story was a bit hard to believe. "...robbing the place." Not really a lie, just not the whole truth, like something a devil would say. "Look, so I wear better clothes and I eat every day. That doesn't change who I am."

He didn't reply. She said, "It was always you and me. I thought it always would be. And then the biggest thing in my life happened and I wanted to tell you about it. It was a blessing and a curse and I wanted you to be part of that."

"You wanted me to be part of your curse?" he said.

She heard the teasing in his voice and grinned. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Yeah," he chuckled back. Some of the tension in the room faded.

"I just mean a lot's happened and I want to tell my best friend about it. But he's not here."

After a long silence, he said, "I'm here now."

She looked over at him and he didn't look away this time. "Are you?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "So tell me."

She cast a look towards the ceiling. "Well, isn't this shitty timing." She looked back at him. "I can't. I have to go now. It's a really long story and I just don't have time now. But...when I get back, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. Where are you off to?"

"Candlekeep," she said. "It's some big library or something." He looked confused and she shrugged. "Again, long story."

"When will you be back?"

She looked at him sadly. She might never come back to the city. "At least a tenday," she said, another not-quite-a-lie. And then she added reluctantly, "Probably longer."

"Oh," he said in obvious disappointment.

"When I get back, I'll tell you all about it," she assured him. "Promise!"

"Okay."

She didn't want to go, but the others would be waiting. She stood and retrieved the bag. He stood as well. They looked at each other in silence, not sure what came next. Again she reminded himself she might never see him again. Feeling embarrassed, she stepped forward and clumsily put her arms around him in a tight hug, the bag swinging awkwardly in her hand. He quickly returned the hug. They held each other for a long time until he said, "Be careful, you dumb bitch."

She laughed. "Thanks, you selfish prick."

The moment stretched on but she finally let him go and he reluctantly did the same. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said.

"Okay." Hesitantly he added, "I'll say 'hey' to the crew for you, okay?"

That made her sad again. "Sure," she said without enthusiasm. She was less sure she could smooth things over with them, but she'd just have to see what happened if she ever made it back.

"You going out your fancy way or the normal way?" he asked with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that." She wasn't sure she could visualize the outside as well as the inside. "Let's give it a try." She concentrated, stepped forward, and disappeared in a swirl of ice crystals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pariah forgetting about the fire breathing potions means I forgot about them. I complained a couple of chapters ago about Rowan being useless in combat. There were situations where she could have used those potions. Well, we'll see what happens in the future.
> 
> I know Misty Step won't let you walk through walls. I took a little dramatic license, considering it was a place she was intimately familiar with.
> 
> I normally disable guest comments because anonymity breeds trolls, plus it used to be easy to get an AO3 account. However, from what I've heard lately, it's taking people weeks or even months to get an invitation, so I've turned guest comments on.


	14. A Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **As sun sets west the heroes ride  
>  Along the Trade Way path.  
>  A quiet charming countryside  
>  Unspoiled by devil's wrath.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

The road curved to skirt a forest that grew noticeably thicker as it stretched to their right, and the sun setting behind the trees cast long shadows across the road in front of them. Falaster had told her the forest was called the Cloak Wood. Pariah half listened as he told her stories of the marauders, satyrs and portals to other realms that were said to be in the wood. It wasn't that she didn't care; she was just a little tired of his voice by the end of the day. His stories had been interesting for the first few hours, but were beginning to wear thin.

They were making their way to an inn further down the road. Small towns dotted the Trade Way along its length, each about a day's ride apart, set up specifically to give travelers places to rest on their long journeys. Pariah watched the passing terrain with interest. Other than an occasional visit to Insight Park, she couldn't remember ever being in an area that wasn't crowded with buildings and people. This wide expanse of pure nature was a new experience, one she found both pleasing and unsettling. She already missed the familiarity of her home.

She looked ahead to see a cart approaching. The cart was buried under a loose pile of hay that hung out over its sides, nearly touching the ground. Two broken down draft horses slowly pulled the wagon along, and a gray-haired human farmer with sun-ravaged skin sat in the driver's seat, the upper half of his body poking up out of the hay around him. She idly wondered if he planned to drive the wagon all night to reach Baldur's Gate. That seemed odd to her, but she wasn't a farmer so didn't know how that worked. The farmer gave them a cheery wave as the wagons got close. "Evenin'," he nodded at them. They greeted him back.

Pariah turned away as the other wagon passed, again looking at the trees as they passed. She was lost in reverie so it took her a moment to react to the sound behind her, the sound of someone saying in Infernal, "Attack now."

She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Falaster was already yelling, "It's an ambush!" He pulled back on the brake and then leapt to the ground, drawing his shortsword.

Pariah jumped off the other side and drew her rapier as she turned to see what was happening. Three armored men, a dwarf and two humans, burst out from under the pile of hay and charged towards the nearest target, Rowan. Meanwhile the driver transformed into some kind of fiend with charcoal-black skin, cloven hooves and leathery wings. Unlike the hideous devils she'd seen so far, he had an unearthly beauty. He spread his wings and took to the air, brandishing a twisted, black spear wreathed in flame. Bolts of fire shot from his fingertips, slamming into Farima who was still reacting to the ambush.

Pariah called the cold energy to her blade as she charged towards the battle that seemed so far away. As she watched, the swords of the three men brutally slashed and stabbed at Rowan, and the woman slumped off the other side of her horse and fell to the ground. Pariah roared in anger and called on the cold mists. She disappeared into a cloud of icy fog, reappearing behind the attackers to launch a brutal stab with her rapier. Disoriented by the sudden teleportation, her thrust hit only empty air and the attackers turned towards her.

Farima, recoiling from her own injuries from the fire bolts, slipped from her horse and bent down to grab Rowan's collar. With a grunt she dragged Rowan away from the hooves of her horse, which was rearing up in panic and blocking the two women from the attackers. As Farima struggled, Pariah saw her mouth moving and a glow come to her hands. She rested one on Rowan's shoulder and the priest's eyes fluttered open.

Lythienne and Ryland, still on horseback, shot past Falaster at full gallop. Lythienne's voice rang out clear over the thunder of hooves. "Bolstered by her bravery in saving her friend," she narrated, "Farima felt the pain fading from her injuries and she rejoined the fight." The power of her voice made the story real, and Pariah saw the burns on Farima's skin start to heal.

Pariah, facing three armored opponents, fell into a defensive stance. She took a bad hit to her side that left a deep bruise under the armor, but continued to fight as best she could. On the edge of her vision, she saw Falaster slip up behind one of the attackers unnoticed. The dwarf cried out as Falaster's blade sunk deeply into his back, but he remained standing.

Farima helped Rowan to her feet. Rowan grasped the holy symbol that hung from her neck, muttered a prayer, and a cloud of razor-edged Tymora's coins shimmered into existence around the attackers. The coins flew about like a swarm of wasps, slashing and distracting the men.

Pariah could hear the flap of the devil's wings above and slightly behind her and hoped she wasn't about to be attacked by a fourth opponent. Instead, bolts of flame rained down on Falaster, who stumbled back under the assault. Ryland and Lythienne leapt from their horses to joined the battle as well, his blades and her fists wreaking havoc on the ambushers from behind.

Despite the other attackers, the men continued to focus on Pariah. She parried and dodged as best she could, but the small wounds that landed were starting to take their toll. She was starting to panic. Farima and Rowan, both of their healers, were badly wounded. She and Falaster were as well, and only one of the attackers had taken any serious injury. She wasn't sure how long she could keep holding off their blows.

An ear-splitting shriek caused the three attackers to all wince in pain. The distraction from that and the harassment from the swarm of razor-sharp coins that continued to slash at them was enough that Falaster was able to land a mortal blow on the dwarf.

"Hold them!" she heard the devil say in Infernal. The flap of wings passed over and Pariah saw him land in their cart. One hand pawed through their belongings while the other hand reached out to send streams of fire towards Rowan, who cried out in pain as the flames burned her.

"He's after the shield or the box!" Pariah yelled as she continued to parry blows. Farima sent a steady stream of magical bolts from her staff at him but he continued to throw aside supplies searching for his quarry.

Ryland landed a deep wound in one of the attackers, and Pariah saw the panic in the enemy's eyes as he disengaged and fled. The devil, meanwhile, had found his target. The reddish dusk light glinted off the golden shield as he raised it and the blanket it had been wrapped in slipped off. He turned to see his minion running and shouted, "I said hold them, coward!" as he launched a bolt of flame. The fire engulfed the man, who screamed as he collapsed into a burning heap.

The devil spread his wings as he prepared to take to the air. "He's getting away," said Pariah, but the last opponent had turned and was slashing viciously at all of them, making it hard for them to pursue the devil. Both Farima and Rowan fired magical bolts at the fiend, and he winced as they struck home, but with a beat of his wings he took off.

Lythienne turned and charged at their wagon, taking a wide gash in her back from the swordsman as she dropped her guard. The injury didn't slow her as she sprinted, sprung onto the wagon, and from there leapt to an impossible height. She just managed to grab the devil's ankles as he tried to gain altitude. She swung her body, throwing off his balance, and flipped up to kick him in the chest. He lost control, and both of them plummeted to the ground.

Meanwhile, Pariah and Ryland had managed to down the last attacker. Pariah charged forward and stabbed at the devil as he lay there. He tried to block her thrust with the shield, but she slipped past it and plunged the point of the rapier into his shoulder. He quickly regained his feet. Glaring at Lythienne, he snarled in the devil's tongue, "You will suffer in the Hells for interfering with me, bitch." He stabbed with the spear and Lythienne moved to dodge, but he reacted instantly. His thrust changed course and the flaming spear pierced her torso, coming out her back covered in blood. He jerked the spear out of the wound with vicious strength. With a shocked look on her face, Lythienne fell limply to the ground.

He raised the golden shield to block the magical bolts that rained down from Rowan and Lythienne as Ryland moved up to attack him as well. Pariah, filled with rage, launched a vicious flurry of attacks from her rapier. He was fast, but even he couldn't defend from so many attackers. Her blade pierced his chest and he fell to his knees. As he died and dark energy flowed up her blade and into her body, he glared at her defiantly. "There will be others," he growled in Infernal, and then fell face down in the road.

Rowan was already at Lythienne's side praying for healing. Pariah quickly scanned the area to look for any other attackers but it seemed quiet now. She heard Lythienne mutter something in Elvish and turned to see the others helping her into a seated position. "What was that about?" she groaned as she sat up.

Farima had retrieved the shield. She was staring at it and after a moment she said, "The Hidden Lord says there is a secret society called the Knights of the Shield. They wish to keep the shield so that its powers cannot be used for good. These men must have been members of this society."

Falaster said, "He did say there would be others."

Pariah looked at him in surprise. "You speak Infernal?" she asked

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes, of course. It has been helpful in my studies of the devils. I also speak passable Abyssal, a little Celestial, and can flirt in Undercommon." She gave him a confused look. Sheepishly he said, "I have a weakness for svirfneblin women."

Pariah was a little shocked. She'd seen a few deep gnomes in Sow's Foot. Their women were...not conventionally attractive. Still, that was no reason to judge.

"Does anyone else need healing?" asked Rowan. She gently touched a nasty burn at her neck. "Other than me," she said.

Pariah looked at the others. Everyone except Ryland were wounded, but nobody seemed to be on death's door. "Let's gather the horses," she suggested. Their mules were ambling down the road, pulling the cart slowly despite the brake being on, but they didn't seem spooked. The riding horses had scattered, but they were close by. The hay cart was still and the draft horses -- assuming they weren't yet another diabolical disguise ‑‑ seemed content to munch on the grass by the side of the road.

They searched the wagon but it didn't contain anything but hay. The wagon itself was old and sagging. Pariah examined the bodies but didn't find much other than armor and weapons, which she took and stored in their wagon for future sale. "What kind of devil is this?" she asked Falaster as she stood over the fiend. She figured she might as well start learning the different types. "And why didn't he disappear like the others?"

"It's a cambion, not a true devil. It's the offspring of a devil and a humanoid."

"Like a tiefling?"

"No, that's a common misunderstanding. Tieflings are born of humans corrupted by the devils but they come from human stock. Cambions are born of humans or other humanoids who have sex with devils. The differences between the species-" He broke off and smiled humbly. "Well, none of you probably care about the technical details. But they _are_ different."

Farima sniffed in disapproval. "Are you saying there are those that would have intercourse with a fiend?"

Pariah eyed the cambion. "I don't know," she said. "This one's pretty cute. No tentacles or scales or anything. A couple of drinks and maybe..." She looked up to see Farima giving her a judgmental look. Pariah laughed. "I'm kidding." Mostly, she said to herself. She'd slept with worse.

That thought suddenly brought up unexpected memories of what happened to her in Tymora's temple. "Anyway," she said sharply, trying to drive the repulsive images from her mind. "Shall we take the other horses? Sell them?"

Rowan was leading two of the riding horses back to the group and heard Pariah's question. She looked the draft horses over. "We might as well. I'm not sure they'd survive in the wilderness if we just release them."

They tied the draft horses to the back of their wagon and got back on the road. Lythienne, because she was the most badly injured, took Pariah's seat in the wagon. Pariah had never ridden a horse before, but Rowan gave her a few tips and Pariah was pretty sure she wasn't going to fall off.

They wrapped the shield in a blanket again and stashed in the wagon under the supplies. They had decided before setting out that the shield and the puzzle box would be best hidden among the other items, though since both had been stolen with their first day, that idea was starting to seem like a poor one.

The sun was down by the time they got back on the road. The landscape was still illuminated, but the dusky light was fading. Farima took the lead, her staff lit up to illuminate the road ahead as darkness fell. They all kept a more watchful eye out in case others attacked, but they reached the hamlet of Coniston safely not too long after full dark. There wasn't much in the town other than an inn and a general store. The inn had an attached stable, and displayed a sign showing a sleeping man with the legs of a goat. The store was dark and the sign above the door had writing that Pariah couldn't read. There weren't many houses; Pariah estimated no more than a few dozen people lived here. From the piles of lumber she gathered the town logged the nearby Cloak Wood.

The stable was lit up inside. A scrawny man with brown hair pulled into tight braids came out to watch them enter town. His face was badly sun-burned down past the collar of his shirt. His eyes swept over the group, stopping at Pariah. She could feel his suspicion as he watched her. She was the best talker in the group, but she suddenly realized this small town might be less accepting of the uncommon races than Baldur's Gate was.

Falaster waved to the man as they pulled up to the stable. "Good evening," he called out.

The man's eyes shifted back to him, and his attitude became more friendly. "Evenin'," the man said back with a smile.

"Do you have room for our horses for the night?"

The stableman looked them over. "Yup. We got only one group of travelers with us tonight, so we got plenty of space. Hay and grain, water, blanketing. No shoeing; we got no blacksmith." He counted the horses. "Eight horses, plus the wagon, four gold per night."

"Would you be interested in buying these two?" he pointed to the draft horses. "I imagine plenty of travelers need new horses now and then."

The man came over and examined the horses. "Not that often," he said. "Especially draft horses like these." He frowned. "Kind of wore out, ain't they?"

"No, I'm sure they have plenty of life left in them," Falaster said smoothly. "I feel twenty gold each would be quite reasonable."

The man snorted. "Can probably use them for the timber carts. You leaving in the morning?"

"Yes."

He continued to examine the horses, his mental wheels turning. "I'll give you free board for your animals for one night, and ten gold on top of that. Best offer."

Falaster looked a bit dejected, but said, "Very well. That seems fair."

Pariah stayed silent. She could tell the man would have been willing to bargain a bit more, but from his critical look at her, she suspected her intervention would just make things worse.

Meanwhile, the rest of them had dismounted and started gathering up their possessions. Pariah retrieved her bag from the cart, the one with the puzzle box and her other belongings, and the group headed towards the inn itself.

The inside was a pretty typical inn: scattered tables and chairs, a big fire in the middle with a pot of stew simmering over it that filled the room with a savory odor. At one table sat four people: a slender half-orc with sun-bleached hair who was puffing on a pipe; a slouching human who was bald except for a tuft of black hair above each ear; a pudgy elf with silver hair and a thin beard; and the only woman at the table, a human wearing darkened spectacles and heavy winter clothing.

The woman looked up at the travelers and put on a professional smile. "Welcome to the Satyr's Rest, I'm Juliana," she said with little enthusiasm as she stood. "Will you be staying the night?"

"Yes," said Rowan. "There are six of us."

"One gold per person per night if you double up in the rooms, payable in advance," she said. "Includes dinner and breakfast of whatever's in the pot. If you want something from the kitchen, it'll be three silvers a meal."

Pariah reaching into her pouch and produced six gold coins. Juliana took them and said, "Go ahead and serve yourselves. I'll be out in a jiff." She headed to a door that she unlocked with an iron key hanging from her belt, slipped through and closed the door behind her. Some of the group started ladling out the thick stew into wooden bowls that were stacked next to it, while others pushed two tables together to make room for all of them.

The innkeeper came out a short time later and put three keys on the table. "They are the first three rooms on the right at the top of the stairs," she pointed. "Drinks? Anything from the kitchen?"

They gave a mixed order of ales, wines and waters but everyone was happy eating from the pot. The stew was a hearty and flavorful mix of ingredients, mostly boar meat and potatoes, in an ale broth. They were all hungry so there wasn't much conversation at first as they ate enthusiastically. Finally they started to slow down.

"Where you headed?" asked a gravely voice.

Pariah turned to see it was the half-orc. He and his companions seemed friendly enough and she didn't detect any malice from them. Of course she hadn't detected anything from the farmer driving the hay cart either. She wasn't sure whether to tell them the truth or not, but that decision was taken away when Lythienne said, "Candlekeep."

"Really?" the half-orc said. "Heard of the place, but never saw much reason to go to a big library."

Falaster smiled. "I'm visiting a friend there, and they are just kind of tagging along. We'll probably travel on before long. And what about you?"

"Baldur's Gate," he said. "I'm Gnarsh, by the way. This is Aldous," he pointed the stem of his pipe at the human, "and Naal," he indicated the elf. "We're hoping to get taken on a ship's crew."

Falaster introduced his companions, and the two groups ended up passing polite conversation for the rest of the evening. Juliana joined them after serving the drinks. Pariah finally started to relax; maybe they weren't going to be ambushed by every stranger they met.

Later in the evening, Lythienne told the exciting tale of the Companions of the Hall, a group of adventurers who defeated the shadow dragon, Shimmergloom. She used illusion to bring her story to life before them. When she was done, she challenged each of the others to tell their own stories. She said they could be personal or historical or a fairy tale or anything else. Gnarsh recounted a touching tale of his first love as a teenager. Aldous told an utterly filthy and hilarious account of a virility spell gone wrong; he refused to admit whether the story was fact or fiction. Naal recited a poem about the Darkstalker War in Calimshan that left Farima and Falaster visibly moved. Juliana told a funny story about the time a goliath, a firbolg and a tabaxi walked into the bar, all three arguing with a talking sword; the punch line was a complicated pun that Pariah didn't understand, but she laughed with the others anyhow.

Farima gave a somewhat dull lecture on the Great Wheel cosmology of the planes. Falaster described an expedition in the jungles of Chult he had been part of. Rowan told a story of a traveling priest of Tymora who gained the ear of an evil king and tricked him into opening the gates during a siege, leading to the fall of the city. Pariah reminisced about the time she and several of the Forgotten played a series of harmless pranks on the Flaming Fist, tying them up for days as the mercenaries hunted the culprits throughout the Outer City, never finding any of them.

Ryland had been quiet throughout the evening, idly scratching the surface of the table with the edge of his spoon. He never reacted to any of the stories and Pariah didn't even think he was listening. When it was his turn to speak, he turned somber eyes to the rest of them and said softy, "I would like to tell you the tale of the Hellriders of Elturel."

He took a deep breath and began reciting a story he had obviously memorized. "Several centuries ago, battles raged constantly west of Elturel in an area that is now known as the Fields of the Dead. During this time, possibly drawn by the slaughter, hordes of demons and devils appeared. They destroyed fields, slaughtered livestock, burned homes, and killed or kidnapped people. In the midst of this terror, Zariel led a band of angels down from Mount Celestia to face the fiends. The battle took place in the village of Idyllglen, and the fiends were driven off. After the angels left, the village built a shrine to her and believed she watched over them.

"Then about 150 years ago, a band of ogres attacked Idyllglen. The people of the village prayed to Zariel and she came to their aid, helping them to drive off the ogres. A woman named Yael had been in command of the local militia and had fought by Zariel's side. After the angel left, Yael trained her militia into military force called the Zarielites. They patrolled the local area and kept the village safe in Zariel's name."

Ryland stared off into the distance, as though seeing the story in his mind. "Then, about a dozen years later, Zariel returned. But this time it wasn't to give aid; it was to request it. She was going to lead an army into the Abyss to force the demons to fight on a second front in the Blood War. Once the beachhead was established, forces from Mount Celestia would join them and destroy the demons at their source.

"Word spread throughout the land. Olanthius, Lord of Elturel, promised his forces to her cause and she moved the headquarters of her crusade to our city. Haruman, Lord Knight of the Far Hills, brought his force of knights from the Sunset Mountains. Along with Yael's Zarielites, these were the Three Armies of Zariel. Thousands more arrived, flocking to her banner, swearing they would fight at her side to destroy the evils in the Abyss.

"And then the demons attacked. Whether it was in response to her campaign, or if it was just a coincidence, they again began marauding across the Fields of the Dead along with a large force of gnolls. Zariel rallied her army and they marched out to meet them. Once again, the two forces met in the village of Idyllglen. It was a brutal battle, but the courage of the soldiers and the strength of her leadership won the day. The demon leader opened a portal and fled. Zariel, riding a golden mastodon, led the Three Armies into the portal to take the fight to the Abyss."

His voice wavered as he continued. "But it was a trap. The portal didn't lead to the Abyss, but rather to the Nine Hells where a force of both demons and devils were waiting for them. The Three Armies fought for nine days to break through the infernal lines, but the enemy forces would not crumble. Finally, the fiends broke through and killed Zariel. After she fell, the tide of the battle turned. The remnants of her army were forced to retreat through the portal and seal it so neither devil nor demon could follow them through.

"The soldiers were overcome with grief at the loss of their great commander, but secure in the knowledge that the minions of the Lower Planes would think twice about threatening Elturgard again. There were great celebrations to honor the valiant warriors, both living and dead, and the Three Armies would forever be known as the Hellriders from that day on."

He came out of his reverie and fixed them with a defiant eye. "The angel Zariel forfeited her life to save Elturel and the surrounding lands from the evils of the Nine Hells. If one of those vile fiends has taken her name in vain, then there is no punishment great enough for such an insult. In the memory of her great sacrifice, I swear I will do everything in my power to glorify the real Zariel's name!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that Ryland's version of the Tale of the Hellriders differs from the module. That's because much later in this story, I started to adopt some of the revised lore in the amazing [Descent Into Avernus: The Alexandrian Remix](https://thealexandrian.net/wordpress/44214/roleplaying-games/remixing-avernus).
> 
> I've posted [my house rules](https://homebrewery.naturalcrit.com/share/Jbc9626XsuG3) that are used in this story. They probably aren't balanced for a real game, but give a little insight into how things work in my world. They will almost certainly change over the course of the story.
> 
> And now, a little rant that is not about this chapter specifically.
> 
> You know what frustrates me? The inconsistency in D&D canon. I realize D&D has been around for decades (I'm old -- I played original and AD&D back in the 70s), and I know game systems and so on have changed, but the contradictions can be frustrating as an author. In a future chapter, it took me forever to write a couple of paragraphs describing their entrance to Candlekeep because the canon sources disagree on what it looks like. More recently, I was reading _Tomb of Annihilation_. This was published two years before _Descent Into Avernus_ and it establishes that Portyr's rank is Blaze, and yet in this module they call her Commander. Zodge would be Flame, not Captain. I know it's picky, but they literally list ToA as an inspiration in the Avernus credits. When an organization is specifically mentioned in an adventure published two years ago, maybe read the three paragraphs about it to make sure your stuff is consistent. I'm a tech writer in real life, and it's literally my job to hunt down inconsistencies like that so it makes me a little nuts to come across them in published material.
> 
> Not only that, but reading about Portyr in Tombs, she clearly has a _very_ different personality than the way I wrote her. Obviously I'm welcome to make whatever tweaks I like, but something as simple as mentioning her Lawful Evil alignment would have given me more to work with.
> 
> Okay, rant over.


	15. A Slight Setback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **A new day dawns, back on the road  
>  Unless ill fortunes fall.  
>  As views diverge and bonds erode,  
>  Will journey's progress stall?  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Breakfast was the same stew that had been available for dinner, which wasn't a surprise. A lot of the smaller inns kept a perpetual stew simmering in the kitchen or the common room, adding more ingredients as needed to fill the pot. A couple of the group opted for selections from the kitchen, but Pariah took a bowl of the stew along with a cup of strong coffee. The other group of travelers was already gone, having set out before sunrise. Pariah was disappointed; she had liked them and had hoped to see them again before leaving.

Pariah was enjoying a full belly and a second cup of coffee when the stable master came in, a sober look on his face. "I got news about your wagon," he said. "The reach wood is split and the front axle's about to slip off."

Apparently nobody at the table knew much about wagons because he got some blank looks. Lythienne said, "And that's...bad?"

"That's bad," he confirmed. "I can jury rig a repair that'll hold for a couple, three days, but you need a real wainwright to fix it. Your best bet is to head back to Baldur's Gate. You'll find plenty of them there. Or, if you keep going south, there is one in Appleshire, two days travel." He paused. "My repair _should_ hold that long but it's a bit of a gamble."

The group gave a collective sigh. Ryland said, "I think we should go back to Baldur's Gate. We don't know if his repair will hold. We don't know what's waiting for us on the road. Better to go back and get a stronger wagon."

Pariah frowned. "We've already waited so long," she said. "I'd rather push towards Candlekeep." Ryland shot her a sour look.

"I don't suppose you have another wagon," said Rowan. "Even a small one?"

He shook his head. "None I'm willing to give up. Nobody else neither. We need them for the timber loads."

"We could leave the wagon behind," suggested Farima. "Two could ride the mules instead."

"The wagon is kind of loaded down," said Falaster. "We'd have to leave supplies behind if we did that, though I feel we would be better off continuing to Candlekeep."

"I think I agree with Ryland," said Lythienne. "Head back to Baldur's Gate. Start again with better transport."

Rowan said, "Yeah, we should head back, especially after the fight we had yesterday."

With a dour expression, Farima said, "I think our priority should be saving Elturel as quickly as possible. I say we push forward."

"Three to three," sighed Lythienne. "It's a tie."

"Shall we leave it up to Tymora?" Rowan suggested as she removed the holy symbol from around her neck. It was a simple leather cord with a coin of Tymora hanging from it. "Heads we go to Candlekeep; tails we go to Baldur's Gate. Agreed?"

There were no objections so Rowan removed the coin from the cord and held the symbol tightly in her fingers. "Tymora, please grant us your wisdom. Should we continue to Candlekeep?" She flipped the coin in the air. It tumbled over and over, landing with a clatter on the table. The group all leaned forward to see Tymora's face smiling up at them. "Candlekeep it is," said Rowan.

Everyone seemed satisfied with the decision except for Ryland. He scowled at the rest of the group but said nothing. Falaster asked the stable master, "How long will the repair take?"

"You should be on the road by midday. It'll be dark by the time you make it to Harthshaw, but it shouldn't be too late."

The stable master headed off to start his work. Lythienne said, "Well, it looks like we have a morning off." She looked over at Juliana. "Are there any sights we should see?"

The innkeeper grinned. "Well, Purban Underbough has a birthmark on his calf that looks like a barking dog. That's pretty much the most exciting thing we got around here." The group chuckled. She continued, "You could check out the store. Oskar's always got some curious odds and ends he's picked up from travelers. Plus a lot of local woodcraft. And you're welcome to sit here and drink, of course."

Lythienne turned to the others. "Any other ideas?"

Rowan had a thoughtful look. "I think we should stay close to town. We might get attacked again and I don't want us to be separated."

"Agreed," nodded Pariah. She looked over at Lythienne and said, "Sit and drink?"

Lythienne smiled and said, "Normally, yes, but I think I'll use this opportunity to do some exercises. I might join you later, though, depending on when the wagon is ready."

Ryland turned to Farima and said quietly, "Um, Farima, would you take a walk with me?"

Farima seemed surprised by the invitation. "Why?" she asked.

He seemed embarrassed. "I just want to talk to you."

Farima still seemed confused. "Very well," she said. She stood and reached for the blanket-wrapped shield by her chair. She never let it leave her side, just as Pariah always carried the bag with the puzzle box in it.

Ryland looked at the shield. "Uh, could you leave that here? Please?"

Farima was even more puzzled. She looked at the rest of the group, and Rowan said, "We'll watch it. It'll be fine." Farima nodded and put the shield on her chair. Then she and Ryland exited the inn.

"Aww," said Lythienne after they had left. "I think that boy has a crush on our Calishite cutie."

"Really?" said Pariah, looking out the open door in surprise. She hadn't felt that from him, but he was a jumble of emotions this morning. She wasn't sure how he was feeling. "Well, good for them," she said.

"I think I will head back to my room and read," said Falaster. "I can take that with me," he said, nodding at the shield. The others had no objection, so he took the blanket-wrapped bundle and headed upstairs.

"Want to check out the store?" Rowan asked Pariah.

"Sure," she shrugged. She downed the rest of her coffee, picked up her bag, and she and Rowan headed out the door. She looked down the street and saw Farima and Ryland slowly ambling along. Now that she was looking for it, she sensed anxiety and embarrassment from him. It looked like Lythienne had been correct.

It was a warm morning and the door to the general store was wide open. They crossed the road and entered to the strong smell of wood. Half the store was, as Juliana had said, dedicated to woodcraft. Pariah had been expecting carvings and knickknacks, and there were plenty of those, but there were also kitchen utensils, a couple of chairs, washboards, and other useful items.

The other side of the store was a jumble of miscellaneous items. She saw a coil of rope, some tools in varying states of wear, blankets, sticks of charcoal, and more. There were also a few poor quality weapons and a pair of leather gloves. At the back of the store, sitting in a rocking chair, a human man watched them over the rims of the half-moon spectacles he wore. "Morning," he said.

"Morning," Pariah replied. "You buy weapons and armor?" she asked, remembering what they had looted off their attackers.

"Yup," he nodded. "But I don't have much cash. I mostly deal in trade."

That didn't surprise her, but it was still disappointing. She and Rowan looked over his inventory but they had stocked up before leaving the city. They didn't really need anything. Eventually they left empty handed, saying their goodbyes and heading back out into the street.

Lythienne was standing in an open area next to the inn. When she had said she was going to exercise, Pariah had assumed some kind of vigorous activity. Instead, she was standing in a combat stance. Slowly, she shifted to a new position, and then another and so on. She moved like she was fighting, but very slowly. Pariah was mesmerized. It was like something halfway between a combat style and a dance -- graceful and beautiful, yet with a sharp intensity behind it.

Pariah and Rowan lost track of time as they watched her. Finally, she brought her movements back to a neutral position, hands folded in front of her. She released a long breath and then turned to see them. She winked at them when she realized they were watching.

"That was amazing," breathed Pariah. "I'm sorry, maybe we shouldn't have stared."

Lythienne smiled. "No, it's fine. Honestly, I didn't even notice you there. If I had wanted privacy, I would have done this in my room. I like the outdoors so I do my exercises outside when I can. And, though it is not meant as a performance, I am flattered when someone sees it as one."

Rowan said, "Your wound doesn't seem to be bothering you."

Lythienne gave a one-sided smile. "It hurts like you wouldn't believe. But overcoming pain is part of the discipline."

"Let's go inside," said Rowan with concern. "I'll tend to your injury."

Pariah looked up at the sky and realized at least an hour had passed. "Where did you learn that?" she asked.

"A number of years ago," Lythienne began as she started to walk towards the inn, "I was performing in a tavern in some small town near Daggerford. Later in the evening, a man approached me to compliment my on my dancing. He said he wanted to discuss my anatomical dynamics."

The other two women laughed. "Oh, that old line," said Rowan as they entered the inn.

"I don't even know what those words mean," said Pariah, "but I know what he was saying."

Lythienne laughed with the other women as they resumed their seats at the breakfast table. She said, "Yes, that's what I assumed at first as well. He was attractive enough but I wasn't in the mood for company so I politely rebuffed him. He was quite embarrassed when he realized what I thought he was asking. He apologized and said he really did want to discuss movement."

Rowan was listening, but she also put her hand on Lythienne's abdomen and mumbled a prayer. Lythienne smiled. "Thank you. That feels much better. So anyway, I agreed to sit with him and he told me he was a member of the Order of the White Circle, a small monastic order devoted to the perfection of movement. They spend their whole lives studying and refining the movements of their bodies. Some study athletics, some study combat disciplines, some study dance and so on. They regard the human body and its movements as an expression of the divine."

"Okay, there's still a joke there," said Pariah, "but I'll shut up."

Lythienne grinned. "Believe me, I understand. The man -- his name was Belimaar, by the way -- said many unintentionally amusing things during our conversation. However, once I realized he really wasn't trying to bed me, I started listening more closely and I was intrigued by his philosophy. He asked if I'd be willing to visit their monastery and give them a demonstration. I agreed."

She looked thoughtful. "It was three or four days before I found time to travel out there. It was what you'd expect from a monastery: a group of men and women living very simple lives so they were not distracted from the focus of their studies. I danced for them and they were fascinated, but the attention they gave me was very different than what I'd received from past audiences. It was almost scholarly. It was quite a different experience, and yet I felt they appreciated my performance more than any audience before."

She smiled as she remembered. "They provided demonstrations for me as well, and they were some of the most amazing things I had ever seen. It wasn't just the beauty of their movements, it was their..." She struggled for the word. "Efficiency is maybe the best word. They didn't move a fraction more than necessary. Every muscle moved precisely, exactly as much needed as to complete a movement. I felt like I had found people who understood my art on a level nobody ever had. It was refreshing. I ended up asking if I could join them and they agreed."

Lythienne frowned. "I will admit, monastic life was a bit more difficult than I had expected. I've always been fairly free spirited, and to be tied to rigid discipline was not easy for me. Plus, well, I do enjoy fine food, strong drink and other pleasures. Living on water and simple vegetarian meals, sleeping on a hard bed and so on, was quite the challenge. However, I reasoned that I should try things their way, and I should respect their beliefs even if they weren't my own."

"Considering how you fight, I gather you didn't study dance," said Rowan.

"You are correct," Lythienne said with a smile. "At first that was my intention, though I was focused more on acrobatics than dance. However, I received training from many of the masters and I was drawn to the martial arts." She furrowed her brow. "No, that's not correct. It's not that simple.

"There are monastic orders such as the Order of the Yellow Rose that teach specific movements, martial arts in their case, and each student learns the same techniques. The Order of the White Circle has a different philosophy. They encourage individualized areas of study. Our bodies are different so our studies of movement should be different. My perfect movements wouldn't be the same as yours. I have to find them on my own. Most of the students incorporate aspects of all forms of movement, at least to some degree.

"I studied there for six years." She smirked and said, "Well, on and off for six years, let's say. I did slip out now and then when the daily bread and water got too much to bear, but they always welcomed me back. Although they encourage discipline, they also believe we each have our own journey. Anyhow, my personal studies did focus quite heavily on martial movements but also included athletics and dance and other exercises." Her grin widened. "And, from what my partners have said, apparently my sensual skills have improved as well, so that's a bonus."

"Why did you leave?" Pariah asked.

Lythienne shook her head. "I haven't really left. I'm just on another one of my sabbaticals. I'll go back in time, resume my studies until I become bored. And so on." She shrugged. "And in fifty or a hundred years, I may leave for good and try something else for a few decades."

"I have to admit," Rowan teased, "I have trouble imagining you dressed in rags, humbly scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees."

Lythienne chuckled. "The asceticism wasn't my favorite part of my time there." She looked more serious. "However, I came to appreciate the value of simplicity. Removing distraction to focus on what was important. At first I thought these people were mad to live like that, but after a while I started to understand. It's certainly not my preferred lifestyle, but I can respect why someone would choose to live that way." She looked at Rowan. "What about you? What was your life like in the temple?"

"Well," said Rowan slowly, "the worship of Tymora isn't as rigid as many religions. In fact, the temple in Baldur's Gate is a rarity. Tymoran belief tends to de-emphasize the need for intermediaries like priests. 'Let the lucky man and the Smiling Lady suss it out,' as the saying goes. Priests are more likely to wander than to stay in one place."

"How did you end up there?" asked Pariah.

"Luck," she laughed. "Quite literally." Her expression became more serious. "My parents were traders. They had a successful business, and life for me and my brother, Kord, was good. But they suffered a series of setbacks, and suddenly we were broke. They tried to shield us, but we kids often hear more than the grownups think we do. I knew they were doing without so that we would be okay, but eventually it was too much."

Rowan grew sad as she remembered. "The four of us sat down together at the dinner table. It was obvious that Kord already knew what was coming. My parents explained that there just wasn't enough money left. Kord was seventeen, and he had already found a job on a wheat farm in the area and was planning to move out to live on the property. Start his life as an adult. However, I was younger. They wanted to find a good life for me, wanted to be sure I'd be safe and cared for. They decided they were going to apprentice me."

Rowan started to run her fingers over the rough wood of the table as she remembered. "My father wanted me to be a sailor, and a captain had already agreed to take me on. My mother was afraid of the dangers of sea life. She had talked to the Sword Coast Fur Traders. They were always looking for novice hunters and trappers.

"They asked me what I wanted and I didn't know. I was scared and upset. Both choices meant I'd be away from them for months at a time. I just wanted to stay with my family. I was mad at them at the time for sending me away, but I understand now that they really did want what was best for me. We've talked about it since and they told me it was the hardest thing they've ever had to do."

She shook herself out of her reverie. "Anyhow, Kord finally suggested they leave it in Tymora's hands." She reached into her pouch and pulled out a copper piece. "So my father flipped this copper nib. As it tumbled through the air, my heart pounded. I didn't want either side to come up. I wanted to stay. And then the coin fell to the table," she placed the copper coin on the wooden surface in front of her, "just like this."

The coin was balanced perfectly on its edge. "We stared at it. I started to laugh. I don't know why. I just found it funny. My father said gruffly, 'Well now what are we supposed to do?' And I found that even funnier." She snorted. "I think I was a little hysterical.

"And then Kord said that maybe that meant Tymora had other plans for me. So they took me to the temple in Baldur's Gate and asked the priests there. They said that was a sign Tymora wanted me to become an acolyte. So I did."

Rowan smiled at the rest of the group. "And I loved it. My early days in the temple were wonderful. I found a real connection with the faith. I felt centered. At home. And I was still close to my family so I could see them. It was the perfect solution." And then her face clouded. "At least until we got a new head priest, and then things at the temple became less pleasant."

The mood of the group darkened. "But things are better now, right?" said Pariah. "Since?"

Rowan nodded gravely. "Yes. Things are returning to the way they were. Nobody talks about it, but the new head priest is working to restore morale."

"Do you think he knew what was going on?"

"I think it was the worst kept secret in the city."

"And they did nothing about it?" Pariah asked testily.

Rowan struggled for an answer. "I think it was a complicated problem," she said diplomatically.

"The solution was easy enough."

"Perhaps, but-"

She was interrupted when the stable master entered the tavern. "Wagon's ready," he said. "Should be good for a few days. Still needs a real repair, though. It's all hitched up if you are ready to head out."

"I wonder where Ryland and Farima are," Rowan mused.

"Yes, I wonder," echoed Lythienne with a mischievous grin.

"Let's pack up," said Pariah. "We'll look for them when we are done."

By the time they had fetched Falaster from his room and loaded the wagon with their belongings, Farima and Ryland came walking up the road. "Oh, sure," Pariah called out. "You show up once the work is done."

Farima was lost in thought. She looked up and saw the loaded wagon. "Oh. Are we ready to go?"

Rowan said, "Yes. Let's mount up and get moving."

Ryland stated firmly, "I think we need to discuss again the possibility of returning to Baldur's Gate."

"We already decided that," said Rowan tiredly. "You do what you feel is important. But the rest of us are going to Candlekeep."

"No," said Farima, "I think the young man has a point."

Rowan frowned. "Why?"

Farima went to the cart. She found the shield, removed its wrapping and stood it up in the back of the cart. Glaring at it, she said, "Hidden Lord, I must speak with you." After a moment she said, "What is your name?"

Her face clouded. "I must insist you tell me your name...Are you one of the celestials?...That is not what I asked. Are you a celestial?...Answer yes or no...What is your purpose here?...Why do you want to go to Elturel?...Again, that is not what I asked...I insist you answer!" She grew increasingly upset as she spoke.

She turned to Ryland. "I think you may be correct. He will not admit to anything."

"What's going on?" asked Pariah.

Ryland shot her a poisonous look for no reason she could see. Farima said reluctantly, "Ryland wished to speak with me away from the shield. He has begun to believe that the entity within has be misleading us. He is not a celestial as he claims. He will not answer simple questions, giving me evasive answers instead." In a significant tone, she added, "He doesn't lie, but he does mislead."

"Talona's tits," Pariah swore.

Rowan stepped forward, the coin around her neck clenched in her fist. "Lady Tymora, reveal all evil before me." She concentrated for a moment and then said, "Yes, this thing is evil." She shook her head. "I can't believe I'm so stupid. I should have checked an artifact brought out of a devil's temple." She looked over at the others. "Falaster, can you give any insight?"

He shrugged apologetically. "I would surmise it is a devil, based on Farima's comment about it not lying, but I can't tell you anything more. I'm sorry but I'm a researcher, not a spellcaster. Sylvira would be able to figure out the identity of whatever is inside when we get to Candlekeep."

Ryland snorted and mumbled, "Of course." Falaster raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Ryland said more loudly, "I think this means we have to go back to Baldur's Gate."

Confusion swept the group. "I don't follow," said Rowan. "What do the two have to do with each other?"

"Look at who is advising us to go forward," he said fiercely. "Farima, who was being advised by a devil. Falaster, who studies devils and may very well have been corrupted by them."

"I beg your pardon," Falaster said indignantly.

"And her," he pointed at Pariah, "who serves one of them."

Pariah looked at Farima in shock. "Farima!" she said accusingly.

The woman seemed as stunned as she was. "I didn't say anything," she swore.

"You knew?" Ryland said to Farima in surprise.

"Yes," she admitted reluctantly.

"And you travel with her?" he accused.

"It's more complicated than you think," she started.

Before she could continue, he interrupted. "And the rest of you? How many of you knew?" His eyes widened at their reactions. "All of you? And you willingly follow this servant of evil?"

"I'm not-" Pariah began but he kept going.

"Don't you see what's happening? The devils are trying to lure us into the Nine Hells. It's obvious they are trying to take our souls, and we must stand firm against them. If you have all been corrupted, then I will stand against them alone if I have to." Ryland's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.

"Enough!" snapped Farima angrily. "Listen to me, young man! Don't you have the unmitigated gall to accuse me of following evil. I am a faithful devotee of the Triad of Tyr, Ilmater and Torm. All of my companions are good people. And while Pariah has made some unfortunate decisions, she is clearly doing her best to use her dark powers for good purposes, and trying not to let the voice of evil corrupt her." Pariah was shocked into silence by her admission. Farima said, "While I understand your concerns, you are not in command of this group and will not presume to give any of us orders!"

When she saw Ryland wilting under her fury, Farima took a breath and continued in a calmer tone. "We appreciate your warning of the true identity of the shield. And I share your apprehension about our current course of action. However, the souls of thousands of citizens of Elturel are in danger right now. They will not be saved by going backwards or by bickering over intent. Our best bet is to continue to one of the most revered centers of learning on Toril to speak to experts on the subject, and decide at that time what our best course of action will be. You have been a valuable ally and we hope you will continue to be, but we are _not_ going back to Baldur's Gate so either you continue with us to Candlekeep or be on your way. Do you understand?"

Ryland was looking down, seething in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "Yes," he said sulkily. "Fine, we'll go to Candlekeep."

"Very well." Farima calmed herself further and clumsily patted him on the shoulder. "You have a good heart, Ryland. And I value your counsel. Please know that everyone here wants what's best for Elturel." He snorted at that but didn't reply.

She turned to the rest of the group. "Shall we be on our way?"

Pariah looked around to realize several of the townspeople, including Juliana, Oskar, and the stable master who's name she had never learned, had gathered to watch the drama. You had to find entertainment where you could in the small towns. Realizing the show was over, they returned to their work.

Lythienne took the wagon seat again. Pariah had felt more comfortable on the horse even in the short time it had taken to reach town last night, so she was fine with swapping. Besides, let the two storytellers bore each other rather than her.

Before she mounted up, she stopped Farima. "Thanks," she said. "For what you said about me."

It took Farima a moment to realize what she was talking about and then, obviously uncomfortable, she said, "It doesn't mean I trust you." Reluctantly she added, "I see you are trying. I still fear for your soul. The infernals corrupt. And these pacts _always_ work in their favor. Mortals think they can outsmart them, but they can't. Be on your guard." With that, both women mounted their horses.

Pariah and Rowan led the way, the cart came behind, and Farima and a pouting Ryland came last as they continued south on the Trade Road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The reach wood is split and the front axle's about to slip off." -- That's my medieval wagon equivalent of "The HDMI port had a buffer overflow that hacked the floppy drive to decrypt the mouse cable" gibberish you get in some TV shows. I spent WAY too much time researching wagon parts, and strung some words together in a way that I hope made actual sense.
> 
> I would swear I put a note in the last chapter that I was going to go back to a weekly schedule starting today. Well, I am, so the next chapter will be posted next Friday morning.


	16. A Rough Crowd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Another day, another town,  
>  A game of dice or two.  
>  As hour grows late, they settle down  
>  To sleep the nighttime through.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Pariah was in agony as they finally reached Harthshaw. Her brutalized body could barely stay upright and she wasn't sure how much more punishment she could take. She would never have guessed that just sitting on a horse on a quiet, uneventful journey could be so excruciating.

They pulled up to the stable and she stiffly climbed off her horse. When her boots hit the ground, her leg muscles cried out in protest, her knees buckled and she found herself on her back in the road. "Are you okay?" came Rowan's worried voice. Pariah responded with a groan. Rowan came over and knelt beside her. "What happened?" she asked.

Pariah looked at her and said gravely, "Horses are tortures created by the devils. I'm clearly being punished for my sins."

Rowan chuckled and looked relieved. "It does take a little time to get used to riding, especially when you can't rest much." They had ridden straight through from Coniston, not wanting to rest because they had gotten such a late start. Rowan clutched her holy symbol and said, "Smiling Lady, please relieve this tortured soul of her pain."

Pariah sighed in pleasure as some of the pain faded from her muscles. "Better," she said. "Thank you, Tymora." She nodded at Rowan. "And Tymora's priest."

Rowan helped her to her feet, which was a little clumsy between Pariah's still weak muscles and Rowan's single arm but they managed. The town didn't look that different from the last one. The inn had a sign showing a grey toad, and the general store's sign displayed socks and boots. There were only a few homes visible, but most of them had numerous chickens in their yards, so she had a good idea of the town's major export.

Other than the misery of horseback riding, the trip had been pleasant enough. They had been on their guard, suspiciously watching passing travelers until they were out of sight, but there had been no attack. Lythienne had played her pan flute for a while, but the somber melodies it produced brought the group down. Realizing that, she had crawled into the cart to retrieve her dulcimer and was able to play and sing happier songs with that. That had helped pass the time.

While Falaster conducted business with the muscular, dark-skinned man at the stable, the rest of them grabbed possessions off the cart and headed into the inn. The interior was not what Pariah had expected. The floors were shiny hardwood that looked freshly waxed. The furniture was good quality, and a high shelf that ran along the walls held a collection of small animal statues. Behind the bar was an extensive collection of liquor, the largest Pariah had ever seen. Sitting at one of the tables were four rough-looking figures, all human, three men and a woman. They were all armed and lightly armored, which wasn't necessarily a danger sign -- most travelers knew the road could be dangerous -- but they had a predatory look that Pariah didn't like.

A bright-eyed gnome woman with long white hair greeted them from the bar. "Welcome to the Grey Toad," she said jovially. "I'm Zinxi. Will you be staying the night?"

"Yes," Pariah said. "Six of us."

"I want my own room," Ryland said. He was still pouting.

"The rest of us will double up," Pariah added.

"All right," she said, looking up at the ceiling as she calculated. "Four rooms, six people, that will be...six and five for the night, dinner and breakfast included." Lythienne handed over six gold and five silver coins.

They stowed their luggage in the rooms, other than the usual exceptions: Pariah carried her bag and Farima carried the wrapped shield. Even though they knew the shield was not what it claimed, it was certainly a valuable item and they didn't want it calling to anyone else. With that done, they settled around a table for a bowl of stew -- this was chicken and yam rather than the boar and potato they had eaten the night before -- and a few drinks. Ryland sat with them, but was quiet as they talked. Pariah thought about trying to mend fences, but she was tired, achy and cranky and didn't have the patience at the moment to deal with his sulkiness.

"Fancy a game of bones?" one of the rough men asked after they had finished their meals.

Pariah had noticed them playing dice as she and her companions ate. She was actually itching for some entertainment, but she was a bit suspicious of the group. Well, no matter. If they cheated, as she was sure they would, she could always bow out.

"Sure," she said, rising.

"I think I will join you," said Lythienne. Pariah was surprised, but then realized she shouldn't have been. Anyone who spent as much time in taverns as Lythienne apparently did would have learned the games.

"Baldur's?" Pariah asked as the two of them joined the strangers. There were a number of different ways to play, but Baldur's rules were the ones she was most familiar with.

"Sure," one of them shrugged.

To her surprise they didn't cheat, but they also weren't very good. Pariah won more than she lost. Lythienne, on the other hand, was either very skilled or very lucky. Or possibly she was cheating, though Pariah couldn't see how. Regardless, as the stack of coins built up in front of her, the mood started to sour.

"The dice are sure going your way a lot tonight," said one of the men.

"I'm just having a run of luck," Lythienne said cheerfully. Pariah couldn't tell if she wasn't reading the room, or if she simply didn't care. Either way, the tension at the table was rising palpably.

"Luck," the rough woman snorted. "If that's what you call it."

Pariah didn't see this ending well so said, "Maybe we should call it a night," and started to stand.

She felt a heavy hand clamp down on her right wrist. "Maybe you should sit down and let us win our money back," said one of the men, threat in his tone.

Pariah met his glare. "Maybe you should take your hand off me," she growled.

"Maybe your friend is winning a little to often," said one of the other men.

Pariah turned her gaze on him. "Maybe you should learn not to hit on nineteen." He had been aggressive all night, busting on roll after roll.

"I think she's right," Lythienne said. Quickly she added, "About quitting for the night." She started to stand, and the man next to her put his hand on her shoulder. Or at least he tried. Lythienne moved in a flash, and suddenly his face was slammed into the table with his arm twisted painfully behind him.

The others leapt to their feet, weapons drawn. The one holding Pariah's wrist tightened his grip as his other hand drew a dagger. She heard her companions coming to their feet behind her. It would be hard to draw her rapier with her off hand, so instead she drew the cold to her left hand and prepared to send it towards the one next to her.

"Oy!" Zinxi called out. "Take it outside. I won't have a ruckus in my place. I'll kick you all out and you can sleep with the horses."

"How about this?" Lythienne said, her tone friendly even as she held the man down effortlessly with the pressure of her slim fingers on his wrist. "I'll buy the drinks for the rest of the night. No reason to make trouble for our gracious host over a game of dice."

Pariah watched the eyes of the ruffians as they scanned the others. They were outnumbered, but their prudence battled with their pride. The innkeeper said emphatically, "That sounds like a good idea. Let's all just sit down."

"Fine," grumbled the man not currently engaged with the group. He sheathed his shortsword. Lythienne carefully let up the man she was holding, watching him to be sure he didn't try to strike back at her. The third man released Pariah's wrist and put his dagger away, and the woman put up her small hammer.

"Good," said the innkeeper with relief. "What'll you all have?"

"A round of the most expensive shit you've got," the man with the shortsword said smugly.

Lythienne chuckled in delight. "Excellent choice. I will have the same. And keep it coming." She turned and rejoined her companions.

Pariah also headed back to the table, though she didn't turn her back on the group as she resumed her seat. "Same," she said. She'd probably stick with ale for the rest of the evening, but she was curious what "the most expensive shit" tasted like.

She looked around as the others in her group also resumed their seats. "Where's Ryland?" she asked.

"He went to his room," said Farima. "He is...struggling with this situation."

"You two spend a lot of the trip today whispering to each other," observed Lythienne. "Were you cooing romantic ballads?"

Farima gave her a mystified stare. "What?"

Rowan smirked. "When Ryland wanted to speak to you alone, we assumed he was making romantic overtures. I'm guessing that was not the case."

Farima looked only slightly less confused. "Well, no. He wanted to talk about the shield and about our plans for Candlekeep." She looked towards the hall towards his room. "Besides, he is just a boy. Don't be silly."

Lythienne looked like she was going to make a comment but Rowan quickly said, "So what were you two talking about today?"

Farima seemed relieved at the change in conversation. "More of the same," she sighed. "He is quite focused on the idea of returning to Baldur's Gate. He apologized for accusing me of, well, whatever it was he thought I did." She frowned. "I know I do not know him well, but he seems different somehow. Driven. Obsessed almost. The zeal of youth I suppose."

"The Hellriders are sworn to protect Elturel," Lythienne mused. "Now that we know we might have a chance to save it, maybe that's what drives him." Her brow furrowed. "But then I'd think he would be pushing to move forward. I don't understand why he doesn't want us to go to Candlekeep."

There was a brief pause in the conversation as the innkeeper brought the first round of drinks. Pariah sniffed the contents of the glass and it was some kind of whiskey. She drank a sip, and it went down more smoothly than any alcohol she'd ever had. "This is nice," she said in surprise, and took another sip.

Ignoring her, Farima said, "He did keep talking about the devils. He has convinced himself that this is part of their plan and we are fools for letting them manipulate us."

"I mean, he's not wrong," Pariah said, lowering her voice a bit, though the ruffians at the other table were getting rowdy with the arrival of the drinks and weren't listening. "About the devils telling us what to do. Between the shield and my little friend pushing us, I'm a little concerned." She looked over at Falaster and teased, "And who knows how corrupted Falaster is."

He put on an expression of exaggerated sincerity. "I am a paragon of virtue, clearly incorruptible," he joked.

"Except by short, gray-skinned chicks," she observed.

Falaster shook his head. "I'm going to regret telling you that, aren't I?"

She grinned at him. "Every day you know me."

He smiled back. "I grant that following the counsel of devils is not always the wisest course. I'm sure that Sylvira will be able to advise us and we can decide our next move when we reach Candlekeep."

"I'll drink to that," said Lythienne, and they all did so.

Pariah lowered her glass and looked at the surface of the table thoughtfully. "I do want to save Elturel," she said. "No matter what it takes." She turned to Farima. "I meant that when I said it before."

Farima nodded slowly. "I am inclined to believe you," she admitted. "And I share your desire. Perhaps young Ryland will join us as well. He is a valuable ally."

"I agree," Pariah said. "It's just a matter of getting him to trust us, and that's not going to be easy."

Rowan said, "He's also still recovering from learning that the high overseer sacrificed his city to the Hells. That was quite a blow. His foundation has been shaken, and that's hard for anyone to deal with." She blew out a breath.

Farima nodded. "I haven't approached the issue of Zariel with him again. I don't think he's ready to accept it. Perhaps that is the source of his fervor. It is important to him to believe that Zariel died nobly rather than accepting the truth that she joined Asmodeus."

"It's tragic to have your illusions of your heroes shattered," said Lythienne softly, almost to herself.

"Poor kid," Rowan said. "He's dealing with a lot."

"And doing it alone," Pariah said. "We're all strangers to him. Losing the support of friends and family makes his situation harder." She smiled sadly. "Trust me."

"At least you found a new family in us," Rowan said, and then she looked embarrassed. "Wow, that was really corny. I think I've had too much to drink."

They all laughed quietly. "That's okay," Pariah said. "I know what you mean." And she did appreciate the people around her, though it wasn't the same as what she'd had -- what she'd _thought_ she'd had, anyhow -- with the Forgotten. She was glad she had been able to talk to Jan before leaving the city, but that hadn't healed the wound.

As she felt her mood crashing, Pariah stretched. "I think I've had too much to drink, too. I'm headed to bed."

They all mumbled agreement. Even Lythienne decided to call it an early night. She left a sack of gold coins with the innkeeper to cover the drinks of the other group, and they all headed to their rooms.

Pariah and Rowan were sharing a room, as they had the night before. It was a simple room with two single beds, a table with a basin and pitcher, and presumably pots under one or both beds. A lantern hung on one wall, and on another were a few hooks for clothes.

"What's wrong?" Rowan asked.

"Huh?" Pariah replied.

"You're making a face," she said. "You did that in the room last night, too. You don't like the place?"

Pariah realized she was wrinkling her nose in distaste as she looked around the room. "It's not that." She grimaced, and then said, "It's too clean. Too nice."

"This is nice?" Rowan asked, surveying the room.

Pariah laughed self-consciously. "To filth like me it is. If it doesn't have a leaky roof and rats, it feels like a palace." She shrugged. "I just don't feel comfortable."

"You want to sleep in the stables?" Rowan teased. "The innkeeper offered."

"You laugh, but...well...kinda."

Rowan shook her head with a slight smile. "A woman who calls herself Pariah when she's not calling herself filth, and who wants to sleep in the stable. Yup, no self image problems here."

"Shut up," Pariah laughed but felt herself blushing.

Rowan's smile faded. "Seriously, you are an amazing person and you deserve nice things."

Pariah stared at her and said very seriously, "You are in the 'I love you, man' stage of drunkenness aren't you?"

Rowan laughed. "Gods, I really am. I need to shut up now. Let's go to sleep before I say anything else embarrassing."

* * *

Pariah drifted in limbo. She could see nothing and hear nothing, and then a distant voice called out softly, "Fire."

Her thoughts were jumbled. She struggled to turn to find the source of the voice but couldn't move. She strained unsuccessfully to see anything in the blackness. "Fire!" the voice said more loudly.

She realized she was in a dream and fought to wake, but she was trapped in this void. "FIRE!" the voice bellowed, and someone hammered on the door.

Pariah jerked herself awake. She heard a vague "Wuh?" from Rowan in the other bed. Pariah dragged herself to her feet and padded barefoot through the dark room to open the inn room's door.

"Fire!" came Zinxi's voice from down the hall as she pounded the next door.

"What's going on?" Pariah asked as she heard Rowan getting out of bed.

"Your wagon's on fire," the gnome said over her shoulder.

"What?" she cried out. Pariah rushed down the hall. Rowan was close behind and she heard the other doors opening.

She ran out into the night to find the area illuminated by the raging fire consuming their wagon. The wagon was parked near the stable, and sparks from the flames gently floated towards the building. She could hear the horses getting restless inside. The townspeople were already trying to get a bucket brigade going from a horse trough.

"Beshaba's breath," Pariah heard Rowan say. The priest ran to join the bucket line, but Pariah focused on her magic. She took a breath to calm herself, and then she sent out a ray of icy energy and swept it over the wagon. She held back the power, trying to use the spell to cool the flames. It seemed to be working but, like the bucket brigade, too slowly.

Farima rushed past her and stopped near the cart, holding out her hands. She mumbled something under her breath and water rained down from the empty air. The light downpour didn't douse the flames, but it drove them back. She maintained her concentration and between the water she conjured, Pariah's icy magic, and the buckets of water from the others, they finally managed to extinguish the fire before it could spread.

Everyone gathered around the smoldering wreck. "What happened?" Pariah asked. There was nothing flammable in the cart, and no other signs of fire on the ground nearby.

"It was those hooligans," the stable master said angrily. "They woke me up. Made me saddle their horses so they could leave. As they passed your wagon, they laughed and tossed a jar of oil. Followed that with a lit torch."

"You mean the ones who were staying at the inn?" Lythienne asked. He nodded.

"Why?" ask Farima in bewilderment. Her face was ashen. "They should have no quarrel with us."

"Sore losers," Pariah guessed. She had thought Lythienne's generosity had smoothed things over, but some people just don't like to lose. "Where did they go?" she asked angrily.

"Galloped north like they were being chased by Myrkul himself, cackling all the way." He shook his head. "Before you get any ideas, by the time I got your horses ready, they'd be too far to catch."

"Talona's tits," Pariah spat.

"At least the supplies were in our rooms," mused Falaster.

"And the animals are okay," Rowan added.

"I hope," said the stable master. "I'm going to go check on 'em." He headed towards the building, where they could hear the horses stirring nervously.

"Are you okay?" Rowan asked Farima, putting her hand on the woman's shoulder. Pariah looked over and saw the Calishite was still pale and was trembling.

"Yes," Farima said. "Forgive me. I dislike fire. There was an incident when I was a child. I will be fine, though. Thank you for your concern." She took a deep breath and steadied herself.

Rowan returned her attention to the smoldering cart and shook her head. "We had talked about abandoning the wagon in the last town. I guess now we do."

"I'd think a group that included a priest of Tymora would be luckier," Lythienne observed dryly.

It had been meant as a joke, but Rowan looked troubled. "No, that's not the way it works. Tymora is the goddess of good fortune; Beshaba is the goddess of bad. If this is the work of anyone, it is Black Bess."

"Maybe it's a sign we are going in the wrong direction," said Ryland.

Pariah rolled her eyes; he was behind her so couldn't see the gesture. Farima said firmly, "Ryland, we are not discussing that again." He huffed, but didn't reply.

"I want to thank you folks for your help," Zinxi said. "Weather's been dry. That fire could have been bad for all of us."

"No problem," Rowan said. The others mumbled agreement.

"It's not much, but I'm happy to treat you all to a round. It's not too far after midnight, so a drink might help you get back to sleep."

That sounded good to Pariah, and there was nothing more to do out here anyhow. They headed back into the inn's common room.

The ale did help a bit, and Pariah was able to get a little more sleep before the morning. After breakfast, which included complimentary pastries along with the communal bowl of stew, the stable master helped them pack most of their belongings onto the mules. "Better to pack the mules and two of you walk rather than trying to ride them," he suggested. "You could try riding double, but that's a strain on the horse and riders if you ride all day."

Pariah volunteered to walk, not wanting to brave the torture of riding again, and Falaster did the same. "I don't really like horses," he admitted. "That's why I kept driving the wagon."

For the second day in a row, it was mid-morning before they were ready to head out. Before they did, Rowan gathered them all together. She held her hand in an odd gesture, her thumb folded in and her fingers extended. Pariah recognized it as half of the symbol of Beshaba, normally made with two hands. Rowan was doing the best she could with one. She said, "Beshaba, we humbly request that you spare our party your attention during our travels, and that you take extra notice of those who destroyed our wagon."

Hoping that the prayer would ward off misfortune, the group started down the road towards the next town, Appleshire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing ahead. It gives me a chance to go back to unpublished chapters and tweak on things. Staying 10-15 chapters ahead of where I'm posting has proven to be a good gap.
> 
> While struggling with the many plot holes and structure flaws, I recently discovered [Descent Into Avernus: The Alexandrian Remix](https://thealexandrian.net/wordpress/44214/roleplaying-games/remixing-avernus), and I can't recommend it highly enough. I wish to the Nine Hells I had known about it from the beginning. His version of DIA makes about a million times more sense than the official module.
> 
> It's not going to affect the posted story for about 10 chapters, but from that point forward the story will include a lot of his material. Some of the remix won't work with how I've written the story so far, so I'll pick and choose. His changes plus a few my own ideas are going to cause aspects of this story to diverge significantly from the official module.
> 
> If anyone reading this ever plans to run DIA, you absolutely need to read the remix first. Even if you don't use it, his discussion of the module's problems and ideas for solutions are worth the read.


	17. A Quiet Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Misfortune strikes at every turn  
>  To thwart their noble quest.  
>  Another town looms up ahead  
>  Here will they find their rest?  
>  **
> 
> * * *

One way to judge the quality of a pair of boots is to walk all day, and Pariah's boots were as poor as they could be without actually falling to pieces. It took only a few miles before her feet started to hurt, and only a couple more before she had no choice but to call the group to a halt. When she removed her boots, her feet were starting to blister. Rowan was able to tend to the worst of the swelling and pain, but Pariah wasn't going to be able to keep walking. Lythienne offered to switch with her and so Pariah traveled the rest of the way on horseback, barefoot so her sore feet could breathe. Now, as they reached the town of Appleshire, she ached from riding, though not as badly as she had the day before.

Appleshire was much bigger than the two small hamlets they'd seen so far. Rather than being just a wide spot in the main road, a branch led off the Coast Way past a dedicated stable yard and into a town square. The square had a couple of open air stalls, though it was late enough that nothing was currently being sold in them. The inn, which sported a sign depicting a man in a crown, was much larger than the ones they'd stayed at, a full three stories tall. Next to the stable was a cartwright shop, and next to that was a blacksmith, the sound of hammering metal ringing across the square even though the sun was below the horizon. There were a couple of other shops, though since she couldn't read the signs she wasn't sure what they sold.

Pariah dismounted and managed not to fall down this time. She stretched with a groan to soothe the aching in her muscles. Her feet, still bare, were tender but an ale or two would certainly help with that. While a dwarf woman with red hair gathered the horses in order to lead them to the stable, the travelers collected their belongings and headed to the inn.

Pariah saw a sign posted outside the door. The other members of the group chuckled as they read it. "What does it say?" she asked.

"Oh, right," said Rowan, apologetically. "It reads, 'We don't serve apples here. Apple was the name of the founder's horse. Horse apple jokes are a good way to get kicked out of this inn.'"

The common room was larger and more crowded than the other inns they'd seen on the trip. Over a dozen people sat at tables and on stools at the bar, chatting noisily as they ate and drank. They rented four rooms -- Ryland still insisted on sleeping alone -- at a price quite a bit higher than the inns they'd stayed at so far. They stowed their gear and returned to the common room to settle down to the customary perpetual stew. This one was beetroot and balls of an unspecified meat, served with slices of soft oat bread.

"I asked the innkeeper about the cartwright," Falaster said with his mouth full. "She says he should be able to set us up with a new wagon in the morning. He's closed now but I'll go see him first thing.

Pariah said, "Any chance of finding me a new pair of boots?"

He considered that. "I saw a leatherworker and cobbler coming in, but a good pair of boots will take two or three days to make."

"That long?" she asked in surprise. She'd never owned new boots so had no idea how long they took to craft.

He nodded. "While I certainly encourage high quality footwear, I suggest you wait until Candlekeep. There are a host of artisans there and you will be able to have a very fine pair of boots made. Will yours last until then?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. If we have a cart again, at least nobody needs to walk."

They continued to eat mostly in silence. They were all tired and mostly talked out. Lythienne wandered off to sit at another table when she was finished eating, always looking to make new friends. Ryland was still sulky. Eventually, Farima took him to another table and their heads were together as they talked. Now that she was looking more closely, Pariah definitely got more of a big sister vibe from Farima than anything romantic. She hoped that Farima would be able to reach the boy.

As the night wore on, Falaster retired to his room to read. Pariah was tired but restless and wasn't ready to turn in just yet. She saw a group playing bones and joined in; they were much better sports than the crowd from the previous night. She lost a few silvers but she had a nice time. Rowan joined them for a few rolls, and Tymora was good to her, but she headed up to her room fairly early. Eventually, Pariah started to get sleepy and headed upstairs herself.

It took her a while to drift off. She kept waiting for the next disaster to strike. However, she finally slipped away into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she woke to the noise of Rowan puttering around the room getting ready for the day, she felt rested and energetic.

They headed down to eat a hearty breakfast before heading out. The others also seemed to have had a good night, except for Ryland. His eyes were red and his face was haggard. When Farima asked about it, he shrugged and said he hadn't slept well. When they were done eating, Falaster and Farima went out to secure a wagon from the cartwright. Ryland left, mumbling about taking a walk.

Lythienne, Rowan and Pariah stayed at the breakfast table and talked for a bit, but hit a lull in the conversation. Searching for a new subject, Pariah said, "So, this Candlekeep place. It's more than just a library, right?"

Lythienne said, "I haven't been there, but the library is certainly what it's most famous for. I'm not sure there is much else there."

Pariah let out a groan. "Well that's going to be boring. Falaster said it might be a day or two before Sylvira can meet with us. Me in a library is like a eunuch in a whorehouse. I don't see the point, and couldn't do anything about if I did."

The other two women chuckled, and Rowan said, "Didn't Falaster say something about craftsmen? It might be interesting to watch them work."

"And there are always people to talk to," Lythienne offered. "Some of the most fascinating people in the world go there to read about anything you can think of."

"Is that what you are looking forward to?" Pariah asked. "Interesting people to talk to?"

"That will certainly be a nice opportunity, but I'm very excited about the library itself."

"You are?" Pariah said in surprise. "You didn't seem like much of a reader to me. Um, no offense, I guess."

Lythienne smiled. "Although I enjoy conversation and socialization, I dearly love sitting down with an exciting adventure book. It could be something historical or something fictional, but there are always delightful new stories to find. Plus they have books on music and art and dance and anything you can think of."

Pariah looked pensive. "Anything?"

"Oh, yes. It's a wonderful opportunity to discover new things. I know you aren't a reader, but do you like learning new skills?"

"Most of my life that hasn't been a priority. You learn what you need to survive." She frowned in thought. "But recently, now that I've had money and more time to myself, I've been exploring some things. Like learning to use my sword. I was surprised how much more there was to it than just 'stab the enemy with the pointy bit'. Or languages. I've always like the sound of other languages. I know a few words here and there of Dwarvish, Elvish and Halfling. A couple of Orcish curses. But, you know, Common gets you by."

"I'd be happy to teach you some Elvish while we travel," said Lythienne. "We have another couple of days until we get there."

"I can help with that," said Rowan. "My accent's a bit thick, but I'm fluent."

Pariah nodded. "That might be nice." After a moment, she asked, "They really have books on anything?"

"Definitely," Rowan confirmed. "It's one of the largest libraries in the world. Maybe even _the_ largest."

Pariah made a thoughtful noise. "Could you teach me to read before we get there?"

Lythienne and Rowan exchanged a glance. "Well, no," Lythienne said diplomatically. "It would take much longer than two days. And I'm not sure how easy it would be to do on horseback, anyhow."

"Was there something you wanted to research?" Rowan asked. "Because we could look things up for you."

"Maybe," she said, and then she shrugged. "Maybe not. Never mind." To change the subject, she asked Rowan, "What are you hoping to read about?"

"Oh, I had some historical events I was curious about," she said dismissively. Pariah detected a hint of deception in her tone but didn't press it. Rowan added, "Oh, and I wanted to see if they had something about working with one hand." She waved her stump. "I mean I'm pretty used to this, but I still struggle now and then with things like getting dressed. I'm hoping some one-armed scholar wrote a manual or something."

"Have you ever looked into getting it fixed?" Pariah asked. "I mean, magic can raise the dead sometimes, right? So can it give you a new arm?"

Rowan nodded. "I did back when it first happened. I spoke to a few priests, most notably Brother Hodges at the Shrine of the Suffering. He said it could be done, but was beyond his ability. He sent me to the Temple of Lathander in Elturel. I traveled there, and they said they could do it, but it is not a cheap process. So," she shrugged, "I've learned to live with one arm."

"Did you ever ask at the High House of Wonders?" Lythienne asked. "Maybe they could craft some kind of clockwork arm for you."

Rowan looked surprised. "I never thought of that," she said after a moment. "I was so focused on the idea of magical healing it never occurred to me to look into a mechanical device."

"It's probably also not an inexpensive choice," Lythienne observed, "but it would be worth looking into when you get back to the city."

"You said there are craftsmen at Candlekeep," Pariah said. "Maybe someone there could build something."

Rowan nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. I'll definitely have to ask about that. Even something simple that could grip would be very helpful."

Pariah stretched and said, "I think I'll go to see how the wagon is coming." She pointed to the bag carrying the puzzle box. "I'll leave this with you two." Farima had left the shield with them already.

She walked out of the inn into the overcast morning. The wind was picking up and dark clouds were starting to gather overhead. She looked around the town and saw it was much busier than when they had ridden in the previous night. The two stands in the square were now occupied, one by a young, dark-haired female halfling selling produce and the other by a muscular human man selling meat, cheese and milk.

She saw Falaster and Farima talking to a fidgety man in a bright yellow shirt. He was walking with them, limping heavily on his right leg, and gesturing at a wagon. Pariah ambled over as the two others looked over the wagon with a critical eye. "How's it coming?" she asked as she got close.

Falaster harrumphed. "We are having a difference opinion with this gentlemen," he nodded at the man, "about the quality of his wares. And the corresponding price."

"My wagons are all of the finest quality," the cartwright said. "And the cost is quite reasonable." He smiled an empty smile. "Of course, you are welcome to buy from anyone else. I believe the next cartwright is four days' travel to the south."

Pariah thought for a moment and then said, "You know, I think he's right. Maybe we should go elsewhere." Falaster started to stammer and she said quickly, "I mean if the duke would want someone reliable, don't you think?"

There was a sudden silence. "The...duke?" the cartwright asked.

"Yes. You see, Thalamra..." She stopped and said with a shy smile. "Excuse me, I mean Duke Vanthampur. Well we are...you might say 'associates' of hers, here on business for the Council of Four."

"You are business associates of Duke Vanthampur?" he asked skeptically.

"More than just business associates," she chuckled. "We have quite a personal connection to her. It started when we saved her son's life. That led up to an exciting event at her house the other day with her and her two other sons. Such interesting young men they are. Why, Falaster, you were a guest of hers for quite some time, right?"

Farima was visibly grinding her teeth. Shut up, Pariah thought. Please just stay quiet.

Falaster, on the other hand, seemed quite amused. "Oh, that, well yes I was a personal guest of hers for over a week. I will never forget those remarkable accommodations. And Lady Thione-Hhune was such a delightful companion during that time. Of course, being on important business for Candlekeep does put me into certain social circles, but I don't want to brag."

Pariah nodded and put a concerned look on her face. "Thalamra demands the highest quality, don't you agree? So, if her caravans were to come through here, she'd want a reliable cartwright. If you feel this man isn't trustworthy then perhaps-"

"No!" the cartwright said quickly. "Of course I can be trusted. I had no idea you were here on business for the Council of Four. We just get so many...well, you know, rough types. A man has to protect himself. But for people of your stature, of course we can strike a special deal. And this wagon." He waved at it derisively. "Not fit for manure. Out back, though, I have something much finer, much more suited for friends of the duke. At a substantial discount."

"We will pay a fair price," Farima said sharply, glaring at Pariah. "Don't you agree?"

Pariah realized she'd have to make this concession, and it's not like they were short of funds. "Of course," she said smoothly. "The duke is nothing if not generous."

They followed the limping man to the yard behind his shop, obviously some kind of workspace. Among the stacks of lumber and spare wagon wheels, there was another cart. Pariah didn't know much about construction, but even she could tell the wood was high quality, and it was polished and stained. Their last vehicle had been a rickety collection of wood; this one was the work of an expert craftsman. As sleazy as the man seemed, he clearly had skills as well.

Pariah nearly choked when the man asked for fifty gold pieces, but Farima firmly accepted the offer. "Falaster, go get the mules," she said as she paid the cartwright. "Pariah and I will pull the cart into the street."

The cartwright gleefully limped inside to stow his gold while Falaster headed off to the stable. Pariah and Farima each grabbed one of the cart shafts and started pulling it towards the street. "I do not like to lie," Farima growled.

"I didn't lie," Pariah said.

"You speak like a devil," she said accusingly.

Pariah paused. "Okay, true. But it sounded like he was trying to cheat you guys."

"One deception does not warrant another."

She pursed her lips. "Sometimes it does. Look, we paid him a fair price. We have a wagon that won't fall apart two miles down the road. Everybody wins."

Farima said nothing. They continued in an awkward silence until the cart was out on the road and then she set the brake. The dwarven stable master was leading the mules, Falaster walking next to her. Pariah looked around and saw Ryland down the road, leaning against a fence and staring off across a field. "Ryland!" she called out. "We're leaving!" He looked over at her for a second and then slowly started strolling towards them.

She went inside to get Rowan and Lythienne. They all gathered their luggage from their rooms and loaded up the wagon while the stable master hooked up the mules, and then brought out their horses. Lythienne eyed the sky sourly. "It's a bit early in the season for a storm," she said. "We should probably buy rain gear just in case."

The stopped in at the store and bought coats of hard-felted wool to protect them from the rain, and a large piece of tarred canvas to cover the wagon contents. Lythienne also had a newly purchased keg of ale loaded into the wagon. "To keep us warm in this chill weather," she said.

Before they left, Rowan gathered them in a circle. Again she made the symbol of Beshaba and said a short prayer, asking the Maid of Misfortune to turn her attention elsewhere. Things had gone well during the last day, though no one wanted to say that out loud for fear of attracting her attention.

"How are you feeling today?" Pariah asked Lythienne as they headed for the horses.

"Much better, thank you," she said. "I think I'll ride, if you don't mind taking a seat in the cart."

"Fine with me," Pariah said. She climbed up next to Falaster, checking over her shoulder to be sure her bag was behind her. The others mounted up and they headed out in their usual formation: Rowan and Lythienne in front, the cart coming next, and Farima and Ryland behind. They headed down the bypass until they rejoined the Coast Way and turned south. They sky ahead was gray and the clouds grew thicker in the distance.

Falaster watched the flashes of lightning in the distant thunderhead as the wind whipped his hair. "I hope that isn't an omen," he said.


	18. A Driving Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **As storm clouds mass, the air grows cold,  
>  The atmosphere grows bleak.  
>  Through mud they trudge to reach the hold  
>  For answers that they seek  
>  **
> 
> * * *

It wasn't even mid-day when the storm broke. The wind picked at their clothing and the steady downpour quickly turned the road into mud. Pariah, warm and dry inside her raincoat, wasn't bothered by the weather itself. However, she knew the noise and reduced visibility would make ambush easier, and she didn't want to fight standing in the slippery mud. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do about it but slog on.

It was slow going and hard on the animals. They passed a few travelers heading north and were, as before, always watchful but nothing untoward happened. The rain never stopped, but it did slow at times and during these lulls, Lythienne rode next to the cart and made good on her offer to try teaching Pariah some Elvish. Pariah learned a few words like rain, wet, mud and miserable, but Lythienne also taught her more general terms and some basic grammar.

They arrived at the next town, Virrath, before the sun had set. It was typical of the smaller hamlets they'd seen, nothing much more than an inn and a general store. The group ate in glum silence, brought down by the weather, though slightly enlivened by the feel of warm stew in their bellies. Even Lythienne was subdued. They all turned in early for their last night on the road. The rain steadily drummed on the roof of the inn and the sound lulled Pariah into a restful sleep.

The rain had stopped the next morning, but the sky was gray and dismal and the mud was still thick on the ground. The horses and mules were rested and well fed, plus their wagon hadn't been lit on fire in the night, so that was a bonus. After a hearty breakfast that included lots of hot coffee, they loaded up and headed out on the last leg of their journey, though they did not continue to follow the Coast Way. Instead, they turned onto a road that branched off to the right of the southbound main road. "The Way of the Lion" Falaster had called it -- the road to Candlekeep. A weathered sign nailed to a leaning post pointed down the road. Pariah couldn't read it, but her attention was drawn to the raven perched solemnly atop it. There was no reason to believe Thurstwell was still spying on them, but she watched the bird carefully nonetheless. It watched her back for a bit, and then turned away when it realized the passing creatures were neither predator nor prey.

As they followed the road towards the sea, the clouds started to break and the sun came out again. Pariah felt her spirits lift as the gloom faded. She still kept a sharp eye on her surroundings, but there were few trees for ambushers to hide behind so she felt a little better about the safety of the road.

Eventually she noticed a shape on the horizon that slowly resolved itself into the gray walls and pale spires of Candlekeep. It stood on a rocky crag overlooking the sea, approachable only by the road they were now on. The keep had one large central tower with many smaller towers around it. They continued to travel until, around mid-afternoon, the road ended in a heavy gate flanked by towers. She had not expected a library to be so well fortified.

As they approached the gate, three figures in purple robes came out of the gatehouse to greet them: a human man with pockmarked skin, a dwarven woman with a tattoo above her right eyebrow, and an elven man with curly blonde hair. Pariah saw they each wore a symbol hanging from a chain: a lit candle above an open eye. She'd seen it among the shrines in Twin Songs, but didn't remember which god it symbolized.

"Greetings," called out the elf. "Welcome to Candlekeep. A gift is required from those seeking admittance. Each of you must donate a book or scroll that isn't already in the library's archives. Please present your gifts for inspection."

"I know how it works, Cydrel," said Falaster lightly.

The elf looked surprised and then laughed. "I'm sorry, Master Falaster. I did not see you there. Welcome back." He came up to the wagon to grip Falaster's hand in greeting. "It has been too long." The other two didn't approach, but both smiled and gave Falaster nods of greeting.

Falaster reached into the wagon behind him to bring out three books. "I have here a book of Calishite recipes, a play entitled 'The Puzzling Halfling Foundling', and a rather interesting novel called 'Splendid Tales'. It is notable not just for being written in Infernal, but also for the lengthy handwritten dedication on the title page. These books will pay for me, her and him," he said, nodding at Pariah and Ryland. "The others have their own payments."

The elf took the books with a grateful nod. He looked at the cover of the first and, after a moment, the pendant around his neck glowed softly. He moved the book to the bottom of the stack and examined the second. Again the pendant lit up briefly, as it did for the third. "Thank you, Master Falaster. These will be acceptable."

The other two figures collected books from the rest of the group. Lythienne offered a manual of exercises from the Order of the White Circle, Farima gave a book that detailed the visions of a Calishite prophet, and Rowan presented the biography of a sea captain. Each was examined by one of the monks and their pendants glowed at each book. They nodded mutely to the elf and he turned to Falaster. "These will do nicely. Now, if you will all turn over your weapons, you may enter the keep."

The dwarf signaled the tower and the gates started to open. The group, having been previously warned by Falaster, had their weapons ready to turn over to the monks. Pariah felt an odd sense of loss as she handed over her rapier, like they were taking away her arm rather than her sword. In recent days she had become aware that the blade was not merely a weapon. It was somehow imbued with a part of her and a part of _him_. She ached inside as the monk took it away. She consoled herself with the fact that she had recently discovered yet another new trick: she could summon the sword to her side. All she had to do was reach out and it would appear in her empty hand. Not that she planned to do that while inside the keep, but it made her feel a little better about leaving it behind.

Addressing the group at large, the elf said, "Master Falaster can show you to the stable and the guest quarters. You are welcome to stay for a tenday and then you must leave. You may return after a month has passed, though another payment will be required. The wearing of armor within the keep is discouraged so please remove it when you reach your quarters. And, if any of you are spellcasters, the use of offensive magic is strictly forbidden. If you have any questions or concerns, any of the monks will be happy to help." The gate was fully open now and he waved expansively towards the opening. "Please enter, seekers."

The group rode through the gate into a large cobblestoned courtyard, Falaster leading the way in the wagon while the horses followed behind. "What was with the pendants?" Pariah asked Falaster. "Why did they light up?"

"They are magically linked to the library," he explained. "The glow confirms that the work either doesn't exist in the library, or is a superior version to the edition on hand."

Straight ahead of them a wall set with a dozen towers blocked access past the courtyard. She caught a glimpse of movement at the top of the rightmost tower. It had looked like some kind of horse-sized animal, but that seemed a silly place to have a stable. She shrugged it off as a strange shadow.

Beyond the wall in front of them was a rising, verdant hillside where she could see the spires of the main keep. In the wall was a large, dark green door with a monk standing in front of it. Normally she might not have noticed the door, but it stood out because it glowed softly even in the afternoon sun.

Inside the gate they turned to the right. Along this wall were a number of buildings. "This is The Hearth," announced Falaster to the group, motioning to the first building they passed. "It's a dining hall and social gathering place. It also contains shrines to Deneir, Gond and Milil." He stopped the wagon in front of the building past The Hearth. "This is the House of Rest," he said, "where you will be staying. Let's unload here."

Past the House of Rest, in the corner where two of the outer walls met, was a stables. As they dismounted and started to unload, several purple-robed monks come forward to greet them and take the horses and wagon. Falaster pointed back the way they came. "On the other side of the main gate is the bathhouse, the infirmary, and the House of the Binder, which is a temple to Oghma. Feel free to wander around anywhere in the courtyard. I'm going to head inside." He pointed to the green door Pariah had spotted. "I'll talk to Sylvira about getting you an audience. We can also talk later about getting you access to the libraries, craftsmen or other facilities of the main keep. If you should need me in the meantime, ask the Keeper of the Emerald Door to send me a message. Any questions?"

His abruptness caused a general sense of confusion among the group. "Not at the moment, I suppose," said Lythienne hesitantly.

Falaster pursed his lips. "I'm sorry if I'm being a bit brusque and suddenly abandoning you in a strange place," he said apologetically. "I'm tired from the road and really want to go lie down for a while; I have quarters inside the keep. I'll come back this evening. In the meantime, any of the monks can answer questions you might have."

"Lying down for a bit sounds good," Rowan admitted, stretching. "Why don't you come back and have supper with us?"

He nodded. "That would be a good idea. If nothing else, I should have an answer from Sylvira about when she can see you. I'm hoping she can speak with you tomorrow." Falaster grabbed his possessions from the wagon, and then turned and crossed the courtyard towards the green door.

The rest of the group carried their luggage into the House of Rest, finding themselves in a lobby of sorts. It wasn't very big but there were a few couches and chairs. On the right wall was a double door, and from the location it was obvious it led to The Hearth. To the left was a hallway lined with a number of doors, and stairs led to a second floor. In front was a reception desk holding a ledger, and behind that a doorway that led to another room.

As they entered, a woman wearing the usual purple robes of the monks came out of the office. She was a wood elf like Lythienne, though her copper skin had a greenish tinge to it. The points of her ears peeked out of her curly brown hair. "Greetings, seekers," she said with a smile. "How many of you will be staying with us today?"

"Five," said Lythienne, motioning to the group.

"Excellent." She looked over the ledger and then said, "The women can stay in room 7 and the gentleman can bunk up in room 4."

"Four to a room?" Lythienne said in surprise.

"Room and basic board are provided free of charge, and so accommodations are simple. Our guests usually spend most of their time either in the library or in The Hearth. I apologize if that is inconvenient."

Lythienne shook her head. "I wasn't complaining. Just surprised."

The woman turned the ledger towards the group. "If each of you will sign in, please."

Each of them signed the book in turn. Rowan went first and she turned to Pariah to say, "I'll sign you in." She paused. "Do you have a last name?"

Pariah shook her head. "Not at the moment. Never had a use for one."

Rowan nodded and wrote something in the book. Pariah looked over her shoulder in curiosity. She saw Rowan had written something long, presumably her own name, and a 7 in a column next to it. She couldn’t read but she could recognize numbers. Below that she had written something much shorter, also with a 7 next to it. Pariah realized that must be her name. She mused over the fact that somehow that scrawl represented her.

She watched the others sign as well and was intrigued by how different each name looked, not just the letters but the styles. Farima wrote her name with precise, straight strokes, while Lythienne's flowing handwriting was practically a work of art. These names represented not just what they were called, but their personalities as well.

"Do we get keys?" Rowan was asking the woman.

She shook her head. "The high room occupancy makes issuing keys a problem. Seekers are expected to exhibit a certain level of decorum. Theft and other crimes are rare here, and are punished quite harshly. So the doors to the rooms do not lock. However, if you have valuables you wish to protect, we do have a safe in the office. Otherwise, we suggest you keep valuables on your person." Ryland was the last person to sign the book. The woman turned the ledger around, glanced at it and then said, "Enjoy your stay. If you need any assistance, I or one of my colleagues should be in the office."

They made their way down the hall towards their rooms. Ryland's was first and he entered without so much as a grunt of goodbye. The women continued a short distance down the corridor to find room 7. The room was, as the receptionist had said, very basic. Two bunk beds and a table with a basin and ewer filled the small space. At the foot of each bed was a two-drawer dresser. In the far wall was a wide window, mounted high so it could let in dim light without compromising the residents' privacy.

The space was tight enough that they had to take turns stowing their belongings. Pariah and Rowan removed their armor while the other two waited in the hall. "I think I'm going to check out The Hearth," Lythienne said through the open door. "Anyone want to join me?"

"I will," said Pariah. To Rowan she said, "You want to come or did you want to rest?"

Rowan looked thoughtful. "Actually, I think I'll go to the bathhouse. Wash off the trail dust. But then, yeah, I think I want to lie down for a bit."

"A bath seems agreeable," said Farima.

Pariah mulled that over. "Tempting," she said, "but I’m more thirsty than dirty right now. Maybe I'll go after supper."

Farima and Rowan headed down the hall, with the other two close behind. As they passed Ryland's door, Pariah glanced over at Lythienne. She pointed at the door with a questioning look.

Lythienne sighed ever so slightly. "I suppose," she said quietly, "although I'm getting a little tired of his petulance."

Pariah said, "I think it would be better for you to ask."

Lythienne knocked on the door and said, "Ryland? We are headed to The Hearth. Do you want to come?"

A muffled "no" came through the door and that was all. Lythienne looked at Pariah and shrugged, and the two women continued on to the lobby. Lythienne opened the door there that led to The Hearth and waved Pariah through.

On the other side was a pretty typical pub with a low ceiling supported by massive wooden crossbeams. Little sunlight came through the narrow windows and the area was lit mostly by a large fire pit in the middle of the room. A pot simmered over the fire, and behind a bar counter in the back of the room she could see a doorway into a kitchen.

Along one wall were three small rooms open to the main dining hall. Each had kneeling benches with handrails in front, and altars some distance beyond the rails. An unlit candle floated in the air above one altar and on the wall behind it was the same candle and eye symbol the monks wore. A silver harp sat atop the second altar, and on the wall was an illustration of a harp made of leaves; she didn't know who that represented. On the third altar was a strange mechanical device, which she didn't recognize, but on the wall was a symbol she was familiar with: an iron cog that symbolized Gond, the god of crafters. Their clergy sometimes tried to hire people from the Outer City for "completely safe" experiments involving new potions and mechanical devices.

Seven tables with matching benches were scattered about the rest of the room, and the pub was at about half capacity at the moment. It was the usual local mix of mostly human with a few elves, dwarves and halflings scattered among them. However, one patron attracted Pariah's notice right away.

In one corner sat a massive humanoid creature. He was probably half again as tall as a human and was massively proportioned. He had an obese frame but, from the muscles that rippled under his yellow-brown skin as he moved, it was obviously not all fat. Great tusks jutted up from his lower jaw and Pariah could see the tips of sharp teeth peeking out from between his open lips. Everything about this figure screamed "monster".

Everything, that is, except his dress and composure. He wore black pants, leather shoes, a white shirt and a blue vest, all tailored to fit his massive frame. The firelight glinted off a golden circlet that rested on his forehead. He was lounging in a chair, also tailored to his enormity, and engrossed in a thick book with a worn spine.

"Well, that's not something you see every day," observed Lythienne.

"What is it?" Pariah asked her in what she thought was a low voice.

"It's not an it," the figure rumbled, not taking his eyes from his book. Apparently his hearing was quite good. "It's a he."

Pariah felt herself flushing. She walked across to where the huge creature sat and said, "I'm sorry. That was rude."

He looked up at studied her with bright eyes. He gave a low chuckle and said, "Apology accepted. I have come to terms with the fact that most people aren't sure what to make of me and occasionally speak without thinking." He gave her a lopsided grin. "But I suspect you have been on the receiving end of such comments yourself."

She returned his half smile, still feeling embarrassed. "Sometimes, which is why I should have known better."

"No harm done," he assured her and she sensed no offense from him. He held out a massive hand. "I am called Little One."

She shook his hand, her own hand engulfed in his massive fist. "Pariah," she said.

"Lythienne," the elf said, also shaking his hand.

"And," he said to Pariah, "to answer your question, I am an ogre."

Pariah had never actually seen an ogre but she'd heard of them. They were stupid and mercilessly violent. Some of the nastier gangs used them for muscle, but they were hard to control. She wasn't sure what to say, not wanting to be insulting.

"I am a collector of stories," Lythienne said to him. "I can't help but think you must have a good one. Would it be impolite of me to ask?"

"Not at all," he assured her. "I feel my story demonstrates that anyone can be redeemed under the right circumstances. That even the most evil and foul creatures can become something else. Please. Sit."

Pariah and Lythienne dragged one of the empty benches from a nearby table, stopping to order drinks from the bar. Little One had carefully placed a bookmark in his book and placed it on the table next to him. As they got settled, he began.

"You may have heard stories of ogres, and I'm sad to say they are true. My kind are cruel and brutish, and prone to eating our opponents. I was every bit that brainless monster in the past, and I'm deeply ashamed of what I used to be."

He tapped the golden circlet he wore. "One day I saw a halfling on the road wearing this shiny thing. I wanted it, so I killed him and took it. I was going to put it on my wrist, but to my surprise it expanded as I held it. I realized it would fit on my head like it had on his. I put it on and suddenly my mind was filled with energy. This headband is magical and grants its wearer great intellect.

"At first I was angry as these alien thoughts buzzed about inside my head like a swarm of wasps. Previously the world around me was divided into simple categories: things to kill, things to not kill, and occasionally things to run away from. But now there were so many new categories. I stared at a bird as it soared through the air and I found myself wondering not if it would taste good, but how it could fly. I watched a beetle walk along the ground and marveled how it coordinated its legs. I looked at my own hand, opening and closing my fingers and wondering how my body knew how to do that. It was new and upsetting, but it was also wonderful."

He had been smiling as he told the story, his eyes gazing off into his memories. Now, however, his expression grew sober. "Then I looked down at the tiny body of the previous owner of my new treasure. At first I was just fascinated by..." He hesitated. "Well, not to be disrespectful of the dead, but my blow had torn him open and I was intrigued by his insides. I wondered how they worked. Then I started to look through his things. Many of his possessions confused me. I found a drawing that I didn't understand, though I later realized it was a map. And then..." His voice caught and he took a moment to compose himself.

"And then," he continued, "I found another rolled up picture in his pack. It was an illustration drawn in ink showing a halfling woman holding a baby." His eyes shone in the firelight as he smiled sadly. "I was momentarily confused why he would be carrying a picture like that until I realized that, of course, it was his family."

His mood grew dark. "I had never thought about the people I killed before. They were just prey. It never crossed my mind they had wives and husbands and sons and daughters and fathers and mothers and friends and lovers. I had robbed this woman of her husband, this baby of its father, over a shiny trinket that might have been made of brass for all I knew at the time.

"I mused over this one fact for days: why did I feel remorse over this man's death? At first, I thought my new intelligence had brought forth this sense of morality, that only dumb brutes like I had been were cruel or evil. Surely, I thought, intelligence must make one ethical, for the ability to understand the consequences of one's actions would make it impossible to do harm to others." He laughed bitterly. "I have since learned how naïve that belief was."

He shrugged. "Well, I would be happy to discuss the philosophy of intelligence and education as it relates to ethical decision making, as it has become something of a passion of mine, but that isn't the story you wanted to hear." He thought for a moment. "I abandoned my old name, which was a rather graphic description of how I liked to murder, and took the name Little One in homage to the halfling I had killed. I set out hoping to reform my ways and atone for my past sins. Sadly, others did not make that easy. People see an ogre and they see a monster, no matter how articulate his speech. At best, people ran from me; at worst, they attacked me. My own kind shunned me, confused and frightened by the changes in my personality and attitude.

"Eventually, though, I met a priest of Oghma, a gnome named Mankle the Skeptic. He had heard stories of the eloquent monster and had come to find me. He had thought I might be a member of a new subspecies of ogres, and was disappointed to find my intellect the product of a magical device. However, he spoke with me at length and saw my desire to better myself. He became my teacher and my friend." He smiled warmly. "He gave me the greatest gift a teacher can give: the ability to read. And then he brought me here where my voracious appetite could be sated, an appetite for knowledge rather than destruction. The monks were so fascinated by my case that they invited me to stay, and here I have made my home." His eyes twinkled. "I am aware that the monks are studying me as industriously as I study the Candlekeep library, but I do not mind. I am the center of a number of debates and I'm quite touched to be the source of so much insightful discussion."

He grinned at them, which was a little unsettling with all of the pointed teeth exposed, and said, "So that's my story. Was it interesting enough for you?"

Lythienne smiled back. "Very much so. Thank you for sharing."

Pariah was mulling over what he had said. "How long did it take for you to learn to read?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "it's hard to say. Working the brain is like working a muscle; you get tired. You can't just grind through it every waking hour. I'd say it was two or three months before I could read simple volumes, and over a year before I was fairly literate. However, I've never stopped learning. Not only do I learn new words all the time, but as I learn new languages I have to learn to read them as well."

"Reading is different for each language?" she asked. As the question came out, she felt foolish. Of course it would be different.

"It is," he said, with no hint of condescension in his voice. "It's not so bad when the language uses the same alphabet, but learning to read a different writing system adds to the challenge. For example, Dwarvish and Halfling both use Dwarvish script, but Elvish uses different symbols."

She sighed in disappointment. "So it's not possible to-" She shook her head. "Never mind."

He grinned at her. "To learn to read everything?" he asked. She leaned back in shock. Did the circlet let him read minds as well? He chuckled. "Believe me, my friend, I have the same goal. I would love to live long enough to read every book in Candlekeep, but it would take decades just to learn all the languages. I shall have to be content to be able to read only about a third to half, which would still take me multiple lifetimes."

"I imagine there is plenty to read that is written in the languages you understand," said Lythienne to Pariah. "And people will translate from one language to another. You could learn to read and have access to plenty of information."

"Yeah, I guess," she said gloomily "But, a year? Just for one language?" She looked at the other woman. "Considering where I'm headed after Candlekeep, I guess it's not time to make any long term plans."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In addition to what was in the module, I consulted [the Forgotten Realms Wiki](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Candlekeep) and [An Introduction to Candlekeep](http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/ck_scroll.htm), and the "Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide". There is a lot of interesting, and sometimes contradictory, information to be found in those sources.


	19. A Critical Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **At last they come to Candlekeep,  
>  Infernal box in hand.  
>  To sage who lives in castle deep  
>  Now go the valiant band.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Ryland and the four women approached the Emerald Door after breakfast. They were unarmored, as required by the keep, except for the golden shield that Farima carried; Falaster had said the previous night that Sylvira was interested in examining it. Pariah also carried the puzzle box. The storm had moved inland so the day was brighter than when they had arrived and the air was warm. Standing in front of the slightly glowing green door was a small human man with curly red hair. He wore the purple robes of the monks, and Falaster had informed them at supper that this man was the Keeper of the Emerald Door. He had told them to give him their names the following morning and he would see they were escorted to Sylvira's laboratory.

As they approached, he turned a friendly but guarded smile towards them. He said nothing. Rowan said, "I am Rowan. This is Lythienne, Ryland, Pariah and Farima. We are here to meet with Sylvira."

He inclined his head in greeting. "Your guide is waiting through the door," he said in a soft voice. "Please do not go anywhere inside the keep unless you are escorted. He will take you to your destination and wait to bring you back here." The door opened, though she saw nobody standing near it, and he gestured them inside.

Another monk waited for them past the entry. He was a pudgy half-elf with the same quiet resolve as the other monks. Pariah had expected the entry to be tastefully decorated, like the entrance to a temple, but this room was martial and dangerous. Archer slits lined the walls. In the ceiling she could see the tips of the spikes of three separate portcullises. The brick floor was dotted with holes and she wasn't sure what they were for. There were four doors other than the one they entered, two ahead and one on each side, and each door was iron-plated.

The monk silently motioned for them to follow and he headed to the left door on the far wall. It opened, again without any visible means, and the monk moved silently through. Pariah had learned to move quietly in the alleys of the Outer City, but her muted footfalls seemed loud compared to the whisper of his soft-soled slippers.

The journey was long and confusing. He quietly led them through a maze of hallways, up and down spiral staircases, and occasionally out onto bridges that spanned between the towers. Some of the bridges were covered, but some had no railing to keep a careless pedestrian from falling to the vast gardens below. She certainly would not have been able to find her way back on her own. She wondered if he was deliberately taking them on a confusing route to keep them from knowing the interior of the keep well, but since different parts of the interior looked so much alike it was hard to tell.

They passed other monks who each nodded silent greeting to the visitors. That was the one thing that started to get to Pariah after a while: the silence. There were obviously other people in the keep and yet there was barely any sound other than their own footsteps. They passed many closed doors, and peeking through the few open ones revealed nothing more than tables and chairs, always empty. Some of the rooms had signs on the doors, but that didn't help her.

Finally, at the end of a hallway, they reached a door that seemed just like the others they had passed. The monk stopped, turned to the group, and gestured towards it. Lythienne and Rowan, who had been in front of the group, exchanged a glance. As Rowan reached for the door handle, Lythienne whispered, "Thank you," her soft voice loud in the stillness.

They passed through the door to enter a circular tower chamber. Arched windows, currently shuttered, punctuated the walls, and between the windows stood bookcases stuffed with countless volumes. Tables were scattered about the room, their surfaces crowded with specimen jars, alchemical equipment, and other clutter Pariah couldn't identify. In the middle of the chamber was a clear space where a large nine-pointed star was engraved into the floor.

By one of the windows, Falaster was engaged in deep conversation with a middle-aged tiefling woman. Her skin was reddish like a bad sunburn, and her eyes were human-like but the irises were black, or at least a very dark color. Her horns were thicker than Pariah's and ridged. They curved sideways around her head and over over her jet black hair. She was dressed in a high-collared robe of tan and green silk.

What really caught Pariah's eye was the two-foot-tall fiend perched on a corner of a table, listening to the conversation with a bored air. It had warty green skin, buggy eyes, thin black horns and a whip-like tail. Pariah felt the group grow tense when they spotted it, but presumably it was...well, maybe not friendly, but at least not an enemy.

Three sets of eyes turned to look at the newcomers. The tiefling gave them a bright smile, though Pariah could detect a cold, calculating mind behind it. "There you are," she said with just a hint of impatience. "I'm Sylvira Savakis. Welcome to my laboratory. I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you." The latter comment was directed at the group, but her attention was focused on Pariah.

Her gaze quickly shifted to the box Pariah carried. "Well, well, and what have you brought me?" She hurried forward and reached out for the box.

Pariah hesitated, but it was what they had come here for. With some reluctance she held out the puzzle box and Sylvira snatched it out of her hands. She made thoughtful hums as she took it over to a clear space on one of the work tables and started examining it.

Falaster pointed to one of the empty walls and said to Farima, "You can put the shield over there. She'll want to examine that as well." Farima placed the golden shield on the floor, leaning against the wall.

The fiend scurried over to Sylvira, moving its limbs in alien and disturbing ways. "Pretty thing, pretty thing," it chittered as it looked over the box.

"Don't touch, Jezebel," Sylvira warned

"Aw," it whined. "Want to see the pretty thing. Want to see the secrets."

"We'll find the secrets in a moment," she said, not taking her gaze off the box as she carefully examined the maze.

The fiend looked over at the group. "Lots of secrets here," it chuckled. "Many secrets to find." It scuttled over to the group and they all recoiled a bit.

"She's harmless," Falaster assured them. "That is Sylvira's familiar. She's somewhat curious and mischievous, but nothing to be afraid of."

"Is it a devil?" Lythienne asked, both curious and repelled.

"A demon, actually. A quasit."

"But still a fiend," Farima said distastefully.

The quasit scampered around them, sniffing them and occasionally poking at them, muttering, "Secrets, secrets, where are the secrets?"

"Jezebel, cut that out," Sylvira said absently but the thing ignored her.

It was behind Pariah when it suddenly shrieked, "Secrets! There they are!" It scrambled up her legs and back, it's sharp claws digging into her flesh. She felt it lifting her shirt, revealing her belly and back. "Look at the secrets!" it crowed triumphantly.

Instinctively she reached around and grabbed it, flinging it away from her. "Get off me!" she snarled. She turned to see that Falaster and Sylvira were both staring at her. Sylvira rushed forward, grabbed Pariah's shirt and lifted it, gaping at her infernal tattoos. Pariah jerked her shirt away and shoved the other tiefling back. "Hey!" she yelled.

Sylvira met her gaze and suddenly her skin turned a deeper red. "I'm so sorry," she said, obviously embarrassed by her impulsive move. "I didn't mean...that is...What is that?"

"Nothing," Pariah said defensively.

Sylvira stared at her, her mouth open. "Is that your contract?"

Pariah glanced at Falaster. "I informed her of your situation," he admitted.

Sylvira's eyes were glued to Pariah's stomach, like she was trying to see through her clothing to the tattoos below. "May I see it? Just for a moment."

Pariah felt her face growing hot. After a moment she silently lifted her shirt to reveal the lower part of her stomach. Sylvira knelt down to look at the writing more closely. She mumbled in Infernal, "...in return for the preservation of the lives of my companions I pledge the soul of the priest named..."

"Enough!" Pariah said, lowering her shirt.

Sylvira climbed to her feet, looking disappointed. "Would you be willing to let me look at the whole thing more clearly later? Transcribe it?" Seeing Pariah's hesitation, Sylvira said, "Look, I'm sorry I was rude, but the text of any infernal contract can be a valuable source of study, especially a contract with someone as powerful as Levistus. It would be a great contribution to my studies of the Outer Planes. I don’t mean right now. We would do this in privacy. Falaster would not be here. Just you and me. And probably Jezebel since she assists me."

Pariah grimaced. "Yeah, I guess so," she mumbled.

"I would like to be present," Farima said.

Pariah looked at her in surprise. "Well, I'd rather you weren't."

"You said you would be honest with us about your relationship with that creature. I think it is only fair that we know the details of your contract."

"Then read it after she writes it down."

"I would rather be present for the actual transcription," Farima insisted.

"Look, this is going to be humiliating enough without you standing there lecturing me."

"I do not lecture," Farima said indignantly. "I simply try to educate you about some of your past mistakes in the hopes you can make better decisions in the future."

Pariah raised her eyebrows. "I know I'm just stupid Outer City filth, but isn't that what 'lecture' means?"

Farima stammered for a moment and then said grudgingly, "Very well, I suppose you are correct." She looked away. "I mean no offense. I do not dislike you. I may not agree with all of your life choices, but I worry about your fate should you fall to this fiend's corruption. It might be to your benefit for another to be familiar with the complexities of the contract."

Pariah sighed, "Fine, you can stay."

"Would you like us there too?" Rowan asked.

"No," she said sharply. She added in a calmer tone, "I mean, no thank you. I'm not looking to make it into a party."

"We could do this later today, if you are amenable," Sylvira suggested, trying unsuccessfully to hide her eagerness.

"Fine," Pariah said in resignation. Wanting a change in subject, she said, "So, do you think you can open the box?"

"Oh, yes," Sylvira said, remembering her previous task. "I've seen a puzzle box with a similar design before."

She paused and then turned to Ryland. "But first, I think you need to prepare yourself for what we will find inside."

"Me?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. Falaster told me you have struggled to accept the truth of Kreeg's role in Elturel's fate." Ryland said nothing, but pursed his lips and looked down at the ground. She continued, "I've been suspicious of him for a long time but no one wanted to hear my concerns. They, like you, see him as the hero who saved the city from the undead, giving rise to the holy nation of Elturgard."

She stepped over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. Gently, she said, "However, I think that act of salvation was exactly what led to Elturel's downfall. I believe that he made a deal with one or more powerful devils. And I think the Creed Resolute was his tool to doom the citizens of the city."

Ryland looked back at her, his eyes wide with shock. Pariah expected him to object but he simply looked stunned. Sylvira turned slightly to the rest of the group and said to them, "The Creed Resolute is an oath that all citizens of Elturel take. It binds their bodies and souls to the defense of the city." To Ryland she said, "I think that he created the creed with the intent of using it to pull their souls into the Hells. That has been his plan since he called forth the Companion fifty years ago. And the proof, I believe, is inside that box. Do you understand?"

Ryland said nothing, just nodded sharply. His eyes were rimmed with red.

Sylvira turned and walked back to the table where she had left the puzzle box. "Jezebel," she said, "bring me the vial of minotaur spinal fluid." The quasit scampered to one of the tables, snatched up a vial from among a collection of a couple of dozen and dashed over to put it in Sylvira's outstretched hand. Sylvira uncapped it and carefully poured four drops of black liquid into one of the mazelike troughs in the box's surface. She recapped the vial and handed it back to Jezebel, who returned it to the table she had gotten it from. Sylvira picked up the box and carefully tipped it back and forth, guiding the fluid through the channels of the maze.

The ivory inlays suddenly popped loose and the sides of the box folded out. The group moved forward to see revealed a set of nine plates of dark iron, each three inches on a side, and chained together like a crude book. There was writing stamped into the metal, the characters too small to see at this distance.

Sylvira mumbled a spell. "Checking for traps or other surprises," she explained. After a few moments she said, "It looks safe." She picked up a magnifying lens and started poring over the tiny writing, the metal plates clanking as she flipped from one to another.

"What does it say?" Pariah asked as she finished.

"It's as I suspected: proof of Kreeg's conspiracy. It is the contract he made, trading the souls of Elturel to Zariel. I can read you a few choice passages." She turned back to the first plate and started reading aloud.

"Be it known to all that I, Thavius Kreeg, High Overseer of Elturel, have sworn to my master, Zariel, lord of Avernus, to keep the agreements contained in this oath."

She flipped to another page and continued. "I hereby submit to Zariel in all matters and for all time. I will place Her above all creatures, living and dead. I will obey Her all my days and beyond with fear and servility."

The metal clanked as she turned two more pages. "I recognize the dispensation of the device called the Solar lnsidiator, hereafter called the Companion." Clank, clank. "In my capacity as High Overseer of Elturel and its vassal territories, I acknowledge that all lands falling under the light of the Companion are forfeit to Zariel. All persons bound by oath to defend Elturel are also considered forfeit. I further recognize that this dispensation will last fifty years, after which the Companion will return whence it came, taking Elturel and its oath-bound defenders with it, if that is Zariel's wish."

She turned to the final plate and read, "All this is my everlasting pledge."

There was a heavy silence in the room as they all digested the truth of this. It had been one thing when Elturel's sacrifice was a theory, but seeing proof of it was sobering. Pariah was still torn up with guilt over sacrificing one person's soul; she couldn't imagine the evil it would take to sacrifice thousands.

"How do you know?" Ryland broke in. Pariah could hear the pain in his voice. She turned to see tears on his cheeks. "How do you know it's real? Anyone could have made that." His tone was a plea.

"My divination spells show the trace of infernal magic," Sylvira replied. "I've seen enough contracts to recognize the pattern."

Ryland looked at the ground. He was shaking and Pariah thought he might collapse. "And Zariel?" he choked out. "What you said. What we saw in the villa. Is it true? Is it her?"

Sylvira was confused by his question, but Falaster spoke up. "Many of the facts are confusing or missing, so we don't know all of the details, but we do know the basics. I'm sorry, son, but the angel Zariel and the devil Zariel are, in fact, the same being. How she fell, why she fell, we don't know."

"But it doesn't make sense!" he yelled, growing increasingly upset. "She died. They saw her die. The Hellriders saw her die in Avernus!"

"They didn't, actually," said Lythienne.

Pariah turned to her and was surprised to see a tear rolling down her cheek. Ryland insisted, "They did! They said so. They all said so when they escaped back through the portal. She died, the battled turned and they were forced to retreat."

Lythienne shook her head. "No," she said sadly. With an earnest look she said, "I'm sorry, Ryland. I know you have had so many of your views of the world shattered in the last few days, but I'm afraid I must destroy one more. The story of the Hellriders is a lie, told to cover up the shame of what really happened in Avernus."

"No!" he said, fists clenching at his side. He took a step towards Lythienne and Pariah moved to stand between them, reaching for the sword that wasn't at her hip. He looked past her and fumed at Lythienne, "Why would you say that?"

She sighed heavily. "Because I'm one of the few, possibly the only one outside of the Hellriders, who knows the true story. It was told to me by my brother, who was one of the soldiers who followed Zariel into Avernus, and one of the handful who returned to Elturel."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said a few chapters back that I had to rewrite Lythienne's background and personality. I had to give her a reason to go forward. Her backstory originally said her brother had been studying the Shadowfell as a "teenager" (for an elf, that means about in his 50s) and had disappeared, presumably trapped there during one of his investigations. I decided to change the circumstances to fit this story. Although most of the Hellriders were human, I'm assuming there was a smattering of the longer lived races so the timeline works that her brother could have been one of them. That provides some motivation for her to continue, plus some credibility when she tells Ryland the story that's coming up in the next chapter. Then I had to work the timeline to fit her husband and his death to be sure those dates made sense as well.
> 
> By the way, I've changed some of the details of the Charge of the Hellriders to match both the Alexandrian Remix and some of my own lore. As a result, I've revised Ryland's tale at the end of Chapter 14. You might want to go reread those last few paragraphs, though it's not necessary as long as you realize the story that will be told in the next chapter has changed from what I originally wrote there.


	20. A Tragic Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **A shocking lie has been revealed  
>  Grim fact is now laid bare.  
>  The truth that others have concealed  
>  Exposed to open air.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Silence fell over the room after Lythienne's revelation. Ryland stared at her, his mouth open, and said softly, "He was what?"

"He was one of the original Hellriders," Lythienne said. "It occurs to me that in the short time we've known each other I haven't had occasion to tell you my family name. It's Thalaiel. My brother was Evaelisar Thalaiel. Have you heard of him?"

Ryland seemed even more stunned than before."Of course," he stammered. "He was at Helm's Shieldhall during the vampire uprising. He was one of the three who held off the undead hordes after the first breach, sacrificing themselves so the others could escape." In awe he said, "He was a hero."

Lythienne hummed a sad tune and her hand sketched an image in the air. The illusion of an elven man appeared before her, young and strong, auburn hair tied into a pony tail that reached past his shoulders, green eyes squinting as he smiled at the room. "Yes, he was," she said softly.

"We were very close growing up," she continued, gazing at the image. "He was only a bit older than I was. Our other siblings were either much older or much younger than we were. Even after we became adults, we remained friends. We both wandered a lot but we always wrote to each other wherever we were at the time.

"He finally settled in Elturel. He had met a woman and was thinking of starting a family. He joined the cavalry." The image changed to the same man astride a horse, armored and wielding a sword as he charged soundlessly in place. "He faced danger now and then, of course. He was always the first one to fight to protect others."

The horse slowed and stopped. "And then," she said with a hint of bitterness, "Zariel came." In front of the image of the mounted man appeared a tall woman with blonde hair, alabaster skin and wings of ivory-colored feathers. Next to her was a gold-furred mammoth, also winged. The woman spoke soundlessly as she raised a sword that glowed brightly. The view pulled back to reveal dozens, hundreds, thousands of soldiers listening to her and silently cheering her words.

"You were right about that part of the story. She appeared in Idyllglen, exhorting her Zarielite followers to follow her in an attack on the Abyss. She sent emissaries to the nearby towns and villages and thousands of soldiers flocked to her cause, including Evaelisar. When word came of the attacks on the villages near the Winding Water, she led the Three Armies out to meet them." The scene shifted, showing Evaelisar and his fellow cavalry charging into a horde of gnolls, laying about them with their swords. "And then, when the demon leading them fled through a portal, she ordered the armies to pursue them without thinking about the consequences." The image shifted to show a creature that looked like a gnoll, but he towered over the horde, twice the height of the others, and his features were twisted and scarred. A portal of dark energy opened behind him and he and his remaining forces charged through it with Zariel's army close behind. The scene faded.

"I, of course, had no idea this was happening at the time. Evaelisar wrote me afterwards. He wanted to let me know, before the news of the battle reached me, that he had been one of the survivors."

Lythienne fell silent as she gazed off into nothing. After a time she said, "He was different in that letter. To someone else, it would have seemed like there was no problem. But I knew him better than anyone, maybe even better than his wife. I knew from his words that something was wrong.

"I immediately traveled to Elturel to see him. When I arrived, he was..." She faded off. She cleared her throat and sang again, and a new image appeared. This was the same man but, even though he was a stranger to Pariah, she could see how much he had changed. His eyes were haunted, his face pale, his expression bleak. Lythienne said, her voice flat, "He was broken. All of them were. Hollow, like only half of him had come back. I saw him and.." She faded off again and wiped a tear.

Rowan stepped forward. "Look, you don't have to tell us this now."

Lythienne shook her head. "No. This story needs to be told. It's been secret for too long." She took a deep breath and continued.

"I stayed in Elturel for two months. His wife and his children and I did what we could to help him. The healers from the temples worked with all of them as well. And he got better. Sort of. He started to smile, but it was a vacant smile, like it was painted on. I told him he didn't have to pretend with me, but he insisted he was fine."

The face of the man before them changed, looking calmer but with an emptiness to his expression. "He returned to duty. It was important to him to get back to it, to fight the monsters. At first I was against it, but I saw it helped. I'm not sure how, but somehow it helped him process the pain. The guilt. I assumed it was just guilt over surviving. Thousands of them rode into Avernus; fewer than two hundred returned. That is a heavy burden to bear." The image of his face faded.

"Eventually I left, got back to my life, but I stayed close. I didn't wander as far and I visited more often. I wrote more. I started exchanging letters with his wife as well. We both worried about him but we couldn't do any more than be there for him. I remember that in one letter in particular she mentioned that she had noticed a very high rate of battle deaths among the survivors during the first few months. They were fiercely brave to the point of foolhardiness, charging ahead even as their commanders tried to call them back. At the time, we could think of no reason for this behavior other than the guilt of the survivor.

"Over time, over several years, he really did get better. He was more stable, more at peace with himself, yet something was gone. I guess it's not a surprise, but he never got back to being the man who had ridden through that portal. It was like a scar on his mind, something that never healed quite right. However, I was less worried than I had been before. And, though he was always brave, he was never as reckless as some of the other survivors had been."

She grew silent again. The group waited patiently until she started speaking again. "He lived for another ninety years. By this time most of the survivors who hadn't died in battle had died of old age. A few elves and dwarves still lived, but the number of survivors was dwindling.

"The last letter I got from him was a long one. When it became clear that the Shieldhall couldn't be held against the vampire lord's siege, the defenders wrote letters to loved ones that were smuggled out before the hall fell. In this final correspondence he said he had to tell me the truth about Avernus. He had never told anyone, and wasn't even going to tell his wife, but he had to tell someone before he died. The burden was just too much to take into the next life."

Lythienne shook her head. "He asked me to keep the secret, and I have done so for fifty years. I wrestled with it but I came to understand why the Hellriders had lied about the battle. I saw that, at the time, the truth would have been devastating. But it has been long enough. The world has to know what really happened."

She hummed a tune and another image appeared, a force of soldiers engaged with a horde of fiends. They fought silently for a brief time and then the image died away. "No," she said. "I can't do it justice. I can't adequately depict it. My words will have to be enough."

She folded her hands. "The Three Armies charged through the portal, led by Zariel, driven by their own zeal, their own desire to fight the demons. Even as the waiting demon army ambushed and surrounded them, cutting them off from the portal, they stood their ground bravely. At the time they didn't realize it was the Nine Hells rather than the Abyss, but it wouldn't have mattered. They weren't prepared for what they faced. They hadn't truly understood what it meant to battle the fiends in their home territory. They had imagined a battle much like the ones they had already fought in Idyllglen, but this was different.

"The air choked them with a stench of brimstone and death. Their food turned to sludge and their water soured. It wasn't poison, but they could barely choke anything down. A hot wind screamed across the land and they were occasionally hit by sandstorms so severe they could tear flesh from bone. Between unending waves of demon attacks, they were constantly harassed by biting flies and occasionally by more serious flying threats like bloodsucking stirges and giant wasps.

"There was no sun, no day, no night, so it was impossible to tell how long they had been there. It was difficult to sleep. Even if they could ignore the heat and noise and stench, when they slept they were plagued by nightmares, nightmares that preyed on each individual's personal fears. Over time, the soldiers started to break from the stress. Paranoia, greed, hoarding of goods, and much more of started to spread through the army. And Zariel just ignored it all. She drove them to fight, berated them for weakening or questioning her. She warned them that their families were in danger from this threat, that they had to stop it at any cost. She refused to launch an assault to recapture the portal so they would have a path of retreat.

"The Three Armies had found a good defensive position in a rocky formation. They held on, fought as best they could even as their resolve wavered, and they started to beat back the demon hordes. Morale started to shift and it looked like they might manage to pull a victory out of this disastrous campaign." She sighed. "And then the devils attacked. A large force came marching over a ridge and swarmed down, attacking both demon and mortal armies."

Lythienne hung her head. In a voice they could barely make out she said, "For some of them, that was the breaking point. They couldn't take it anymore. One of the commanders ordered a desperate assault on the portal, even as Zariel and her generals ordered them back into formation. Driven by desperation and fear, many of the remaining forces obeyed him. They weren't trying to secure the portal; they were just trying to stampede through the enemy to get home. And then, when a handful finally made it back through to our plane, the commander closed the portal so that nothing from the Hells could follow them back through it."

She forced herself to look up and meet Ryland's horrified gaze. Defiantly, her eyes shining, she said, "My brother was the bravest man I've ever met. But everyone has their breaking point. The Hellriders who survived weren't retreating; they were deserting. And by closing the portal, they betrayed their comrades, dooming them to horrible death in the Hells. And yet it was what they had to do to stop a horde of fiends from spilling through."

She shook her head. "But that wasn't the end, not for them. They knew they couldn't tell the truth. They'd be tried and possibly executed. Worse, Elturgard would be defenseless. They had already lost most of their military force. If the truth got out, it would not only be devastating to the people of the entire realm of Elturgard, but it would be a signal to anyone nearby that they were ripe for invasion. So they made up the lie. And, even as they were haunted by the guilt of what they had done, they were lauded as heroes. They were honored and cheered, and they had to endure it.

"And that is why so many died over the next few years. They had to prove something to themselves, prove they weren't cowards. They charged into every battle, faced enemies fearlessly, fought when any sane person would run, and they died and died and died, because they would rather die bravely than live with the guilt."

Her jaw muscles twitched as she gritted her teeth. "But not all the deaths were in battle. Many took their own lives, unable to live with what they had done. Every one of them was buried as a hero, rightfully so, and every one of them is on record as having died in combat. Because they did. They may have died months or years later, but they died as the result of wounds received while fighting to preserve Elturgard from the fiends."

Lythienne fixed Ryland with a stare. "And you know who's fault it was? Zariel's. Maybe that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth. She used them and threw them away, even when it became obvious they couldn't win. They were disposable. She showed them no more compassion than you'd show an arrow that falls into the mud of a battlefield. She was so driven by her own need for violence that she sacrificed thousands of good soldiers for nothing. I had assumed she had died when the battle turned, and by the gods I wish she had. Instead she betrayed those soldiers and their sacrifice by choosing to serve Asmodeus. And now she is taking the souls of thousands of loyal Elturel citizens for her own selfish needs. _That_ is the 'angel' you worship."

Ryland continued to stare at her in horror, his mouth working soundlessly. Finally he looked past her at nothing. "Is it true?" he asked.

"Yes, it's true," she snapped.

He ignored her and turned to the ceiling. "Is it true? Tell me!" he demanded. "Is that what really happened? Is that what you really did?" He looked at the floor. "But you aren't up there, are you? You are down there. Serving him. You've been lying to me all along," he bellowed.

The group looked at each other, confused. Lythienne's anger faded as she watched him. "Ryland," she asked carefully. "What are you talking about?"

He turned back to her, a range of emotions playing across his face. "I'm sorry," he said in a sob. "She said she needed my help."

"Who?" Lythienne demanded.

"Zariel," he said in shame.

"What are you saying?" asked Sylvira.

He squeezed his eyes shut. "She's been coming to me in my dreams. Since our first night on the road. She said she had been captured and imprisoned. The machinations of the other devils were responsible for Elturel's fall, and our actions were going to doom the city." He opened his eyes and looked confused. "At least I think that's what she said. She spoke so strangely and..." His shoulder slumped. "She confused me."

Suddenly a suspicion started to form in Pariah's mind. "What did you do?" she asked.

Ryland looked at her and then looked away. "I sabotaged the wagon," he said quietly. "She said I needed to get you to turn back. When you didn't, I paid those people to destroy the wagon the second night." Earnestly he said, "I didn't think they'd burn it. I just thought they'd smash a wheel or something." He hung his head. "And then the third night, she said I should poison the stew. Not enough to kill anyone, just enough to make people sick. I couldn't do that. There were so many other people eating from that pot. It just seemed wrong. And she's been talking to me every night, telling me to do things, telling me to stop you all. She told me that the thing in the shield wasn't what it claimed. And she told me about you." He nodded in Pariah's direction. "And she said Falaster was following a devil's orders." He furrowed his brow. "No, she said maybe he was. Maybe he'd been corrupted. Sometimes people who study the Lower Planes get corrupted. But I guess she never actually said he had been."

"Have you agreed to anything?" asked Sylvira. "Have you made any deals with her?"

He looked panicked. "No. Um, I don't think so." He thought about it. "She just asked me to do things and I did. She never offered me anything. I didn't need anything. I was happy to serve her."

"Did you _say_ you'd serve her? In particular, did the words 'forever' or 'soul' come into the conversation?"

He shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Have you acquired any new objects? Did she send you anything? Or maybe you woke up and there was an item in your bed with you?"

Ryland thought about that. "No," he said slowly.

Sylvira breathed a sigh of relief. "It sounds like you didn't actually make a contract with her. That's good."

"Are any of us not being controlled by the devils and their actions?" demanded Farima in exasperation.

After a moment of silence in the room, Rowan said, "I'm pretty sure I'm not."

Farima took a breath. "Forgive my outburst. It just seems like the fiends are manipulating us at every turn."

"At least my devil is trying to help us save Elturel," Pariah said. Farima shot her a sour look. Pariah said, "OK, that was supposed to be kind of a joke. Look, I'm not saying he's a nice guy, but if he's working against Zariel, that's a good thing, right?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Sylvira said, "The devils never have the welfare of mortals in mind." She added hesitantly, "In rare cases, there can be short-term benefit to cooperating with them, but there is always long-term misery in their plans."

Pariah opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted as biting cold flowed through her veins. "Talona's-" she began but broke off as she gritted her teeth against the crippling chill. As she started to fall forward, Rowan rushed forward to catch her and gently lower her to the ground.

"You are wiser than your companions," said the dark voice in her head. "It is to your benefit to serve me. It is to the benefit of those poor lost souls as well. You can see that, but they confuse you with their words."

"What do you want?" she grated. She could hear the others talking but their voices were muffled and she couldn't make out what they were saying.

"To save Elturel you must travel to that doomed city. There, in the crypts of High Hall, survivors huddle like frightened children. Find them and my power will suffuse your very form, shifting it to suit your needs."

She struggled to breathe in the cold but she managed to stammer, "I want more."

"More," he mused. "Does greed so easily corrupt you?"

"I want to be able to read."

There was a long pause. She would swear she heard a chuckle in his voice when he replied, "You want me to...teach you to read?"

"No. I want to be able to read everything, whether I know the language or not. And I want it now, not later."

"Very well, my faithful slave. After you complete my task, I shall graciously bestow you this favor."

She ground her teeth at the word 'slave'. "Now!" she repeated. "It won't do me any good in Elturel. I want it now while I'm in Candlekeep." Thinking quickly she added, "But I want it to be permanent, not just while I'm here. And in addition to the other things you promised me."

Silence greeted her, but the cold still wracked her body so she knew he was paying attention. Finally he said, "In light of your past obedience, I will agree to this change." He added in a sterner voice, "Do not presume this gives you freedom to negotiate with me in the future."

She felt his icy darkness depart and the world started to come back into focus around her. She heard Rowan's distant voice say, "I think she's coming out of it."

Pariah was on all fours. Rowan was sitting on her heels next to her, her good arm around Pariah's shoulders. Sylvira was sitting in front of her, staring at her intently. She had smeared some kind of dark red ointment around her eyes. "Yes, his presence is departing," she said abstractedly. Her brow furrowed. "What's going on there?" she asked, pointing at Pariah's left shoulder. "Something around your shoulder blade."

Pariah was confused by her question, still disoriented by her conversation with the archdevil, but focused her attention on her back. She could concentrate on the script on her body even when she couldn't see it. "The writing is changing," she said. "The new things we agreed to are being added." She was suddenly aware there were changes in other places as well from old deals struck. She hadn't paid much attention, but it made sense now that she thought about it that the contract would change as they agreed to new terms.

"Amazing," Sylvira said, still staring at her shoulder. Her fingers were twitching and Pariah suspected she was resisting the urge to reach out and tear her shirt open to see the changes.

Pariah climbed to her feet, Rowan steadying her. She looked around the room until she saw one of the bookcases. Pulling away from Rowan she walked over to it and looked at the books. The symbols on their spines made sense now. In letters she recognized as Common, one book was titled, "The Final Prophecies of Aoldok". She pulled it down and opened it to a random page and read, "She will bear four sons, and the third son will have a mark on his shoulder in the shape of a crescent moon." An unexpected laugh spilled from her lips as she closed the book and put it down on a nearby table.

Elvish characters on the spine of another book read, "Lesser Yugoloths of Chamada". She opened this one and, despite the fact her knowledge of Elvish consisted of only a few words, she could easily read, "Tugrabek ordered his tongue and eyes be cut out. He was banished from Nimicri to wander the surface for the next 37 years."

She put that book down and grabbed and opened another one. She didn't recognize the alphabet, but that didn't stop her from being able to read, "Iron filings can be used, but the properties of dwarven steel strengthen the circle's magic and allow the binding of more powerful demons."

"Pariah, are you all right?" Rowan asked in concern.

Pariah looked up at her, her face split in a maniacal grin. "I can read it," she giggled. "I can read all of it."

"That's great," Rowan said, "but are you all right?"

Pariah was surprised at the question. She looked at the rest of them and they were all staring at her. Her companions showed the usual expressions they wore after one of her encounters with Levistus. As for the others, Ryland looked horrified, Sylvira fascinated, and Falaster showed hints of both.

Pariah realized she was being a little wild. She forced herself to put the book down and wipe the grin from her face. "Yes. Sorry. It's just so new."

"What did he say?" Rowan asked.

Pariah pulled herself back to the situation. She said, "We need to find the survivors in the crypts of the High Hall. In Elturel. He didn't say why, but he did say it has something to do with saving the city."

Rowan and Lythienne exchanged a glance. Farima's expression turned resolute and she said to Sylvira, "Would you know how we could reach that city?"

Ignoring the question, Sylvira said to Pariah, "Wait, wait. Explain to me more about Levistus wanting to save Elturel."

Pariah shrugged. "I don't know what he wants. He claims that if I do what he says, it will save the city." She furrowed her brow. "Or at least he hints that it will. Or it might."

"Presumably he wants to undermine Zariel's plans," Falaster said. "Deny her thousands of souls."

"Possibly to take them for himself," Sylvira mused.

"The shield," Farima said suddenly. When the others turned to her in confusion, she explained, "The shield also wanted to go to Elturel. We have come to the conclusion that the entity in the shield may be a devil." She frowned. "Could it be another scheme of this archdevil? Trying to get us to go to Avernus?"

Sylvira turned to the shield as though she had forgotten it was there. She studied it for a time, and then said, "Shield, would you speak with me?" After a moment she said, "What is your name?...No, your real name...Then who do you serve?" She sighed and turned to the group. "This is going to take a while. He's being evasive. I have experience talking to infernals and it's rather a complicated process. Details matter. Wording matters. The analysis is convoluted. It may take me a day or two to get any useful information out of him."

"What do we do to save Elturel?" Ryland demanded of her.

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"My conversations with Kreeg were less than illuminating," Falaster said, "as were my examinations of Duke Vanthampur's possessions."

"Let me do some research," said Sylvira. "On Zariel specifically and her past contracts, though since she's a relatively new devil there isn't as much to go on as some of the others. I can also review the information Falaster has brought and see if I have any additional insight on either Kreeg's or the duke's agreements with her." She rubbed her face tiredly. "Again, it's likely to take a few days."

"Is there anything the rest of us can do?" Rowan asked.

Sylvira thought about that. "Nothing that comes to mind at the moment, but I'll send a message if I think you can help. In the meantime, avail yourself of the library or other services of the keep." She turned to Pariah. "I would still like some time with you, to examine your contract in detail and to interview you about your experience with Levistus so far. Would you be willing to stay after the others leave?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Pariah said, a little disappointed. She had hoped to head to the library and make immediate use of her new skill. Then she realized that she was surrounded by books so she might have a chance to look at them while Sylvira was doing whatever she was going to do.

"I will stay as well," said Farima.

Pariah pursed her lips. "Can you even read Infernal?" she asked.

"No," said Farima, confused by the question.

"Then it isn't going to prove anything for you to stand here while she's looking me over, is it? Look, you can read the whole thing when she's done. "

Farima said emphatically, "I would like to stay."

She obviously wasn't going to change her mind so Pariah sighed, "Fine."

"All right, then," said Sylvira, rubbing her hands together. "Then why don't you all go about your business and I can get to work." Her attitude made it clear the meeting was over.

Falaster got the hint and walked over to open the door. "Come along," he said cheerfully. "I can take you back to the entrance or get you access to the library if you like."

The others started moving towards the door. Sylvira reached out to touch Lythienne's arm as she passed. "Did you, by chance, happen to keep the letter your brother wrote you?"

Lythienne paused and then said, "Yes, I did. I thought it might be important."

"Would you, and I know this is a great imposition on your privacy, but would you consider donating it to the library?"

Lythienne looked over Sylvira's shoulder while she thought about it. She took a deep breath and said, "I don't know. I respect its value as a historical document, but I'm not sure I'm ready to give it to the world." She looked back at Sylvira. "I'm sorry, but I haven't decided yet."

Sylvira looked disappointed but said, "I understand. I hope you know it would be treated with the utmost respect. And, considering the political implications, it would not be available for general public view. It's likely only a handful of people would be allowed access to it."

Lythienne gave her a faint smile. "I appreciate that. I will consider it and give you an answer before we leave."

As they exited, Pariah heard Rowan ask Falaster, "Are there any artisans here who might be able to fashion a prosthetic arm?" before the door closed, leaving her alone with Farima, Sylvira and Jezebel.

"Now," said Sylvira excitedly, "take off your clothes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to canon, the High Rider, the leader of the city in the days before the Companion, became a vampire. He converted many people throughout the city and then launched a coup against the city's leaders. When all seemed lost, the Companion appeared and its holy light destroyed the undead. At the time it was assumed to be a divine gift.
> 
> The battle at Helm's Shieldhall is my own addition to this story. A number of Hellriders retreated to this fortress-like temple of Helm and held it against the undead. They were eventually overrun, though some managed to escape in part due to heroes like Evaelisar.
> 
> This story also tries to incorporate the amazing amount of lore about [Zariel's history](https://thealexandrian.net/wordpress/45372/roleplaying-games/remixing-avernus-part-6d-a-lulus-memories-on-mount-celestia) that Justin Alexander has put into his remix. I don't follow his version of the Charge of the Hellriders 100% because some of his lore doesn't fit mine, but I've done the best I can without creating too many plot holes.
> 
> This chapter finally ends a story arc that came out of an offhand comment. Other than the scripted attack by the cambion, the trip to Candlekeep was originally going to be "Five days later they arrived at..." However, at the end of Chapter 14, Ryland told the Tale of the Hellriders. Since he was pretty upset with how the group has been badmouthing Zariel, I added a comment at the end about him swearing loyalty to her. It wasn't meant to be anything more than a throwaway line, the dramatic pronouncement of a teenager.
> 
> Later I got to thinking...would she hear that? Would that draw her attention to these people and their plans? Would it benefit her to start worming her way into his mind and make him an ally?
> 
> So I had to add three chapters of events and intrigue, and think about how he and they would react to all of this. It was fun, and it goes to show that outlines are great, but sometimes the characters have their own ideas about how the story is going to go.
> 
> Pariah's reading ability is the warlock invocation Eyes of the Rune Keeper. Technically she shouldn't get it until she levels again later in the story, but it makes more sense for her to get it now and it's not like it's an unbalancing ability to get a level early.


	21. A Detailed Examination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Naked body, naked mind,  
>  A scrutinizing eye.  
>  Exposed in hopes that they will find  
>  The how, the what, the why.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Pariah slipped her shirt over her head to finish dressing before walking through the illusion wall to join Sylvira and Farima. Sylvira had summoned the wall as a compromise. It gave her some privacy from Farima during the examination, while allowing the latter to listen to anything that was said.

The examination had been humiliating. The writing covered every bit of skin from her collarbone down, and Sylvira had been forced to get rather personal in her examinations to be sure she got every word. She had been distracted by her focus on the work and, as a result, hadn't been very sensitive during the inspection. Pariah had almost called a halt to it, but recognized that this was important so she had clenched her teeth and tolerated it.

Farima stood impatiently as Sylvira pored over the document she had just created. "What does it say?" the Calishite demanded. Pariah glanced over Sylvira's shoulder and saw the text was in Infernal, so Farima wouldn't be able to read it herself.

Sylvira didn't seem to notice Farima's tone. "It's complex," she said distractedly. "More so than most of the contracts I've seen, and further complicated by the changes that have occurred over the life of the agreement." She made a thoughtful "hmm" sound and then said, "But at its core, it's pretty straightforward. The subject is awarded certain magics and abilities in return for the sacrifice of the two souls mentioned, and the-"

"Two souls!" Farima said, shooting Pariah a poisonous look. "You took another soul?"

"No," Pariah began.

"You said you'd be honest," Farima said accusingly. "I've tolerated this situation because I've tried to believe that you are trying to do good, but to sacrifice another soul in the name of this evil is reprehensible. I cannot continue-"

"It's my soul!" Pariah snapped, cutting Farima off. "My soul is the second soul."

Farima was silent, staring at her as she processed this new information. "What?" she said.

"He gets my soul when I die," Pariah said reluctantly. "That was part of the deal. After I die, my soul goes to him and I serve him for eternity." She added, "I didn't mention it because it doesn't matter. It has nothing to do with what's happening now."

Farima's mouth move soundlessly and then she said, "But...why? Why would you do that?"

"Because that was the price. To save my friends. That's what he wanted. Me and the priest."

"But why?" Farima asked again, struggling to understand. "Did he trick you?"

Pariah shook her head. "No, I understood everything. It's not just what's in the contract. He sent me...I don't know...like pictures, like memories. I understood the whole thing, what I was giving up, what I was getting." She snorted. "If he wants something as worthless as my soul for something as important as saving them, then I got off cheap."

"But eternity. Forever, stuck in the Nine Hells. That's a terrible price to pay."

Pariah snorted. "Try living in the Outer City. I already know misery and pain. How much worse could the Nine Hells be?"

Farima continued to stare at her in disbelief. "Worse," she said. "Much worse. And don't say your soul is worthless. It's not. It's..." She broke off and breathed out a sigh. She turned to Sylvira and said, "Can these contracts be broken?"

Sylvira had been watching the exchange silently. She folded her arms and said, "Rarely. There are some cases of mortals who have managed to find loopholes, but those histories are hard to find. My theory is that the infernals suppress any information about those events so future generations can't use them." She paused, "And most of those are contracts with lower fiends. Contracts with archdevils or demon lords are very, very hard to break. I will examine the document more closely, but I am skeptical that there will be an easy out."

She cocked her head and said, "There is one possibility, though I don't hold out much hope for that either. Destroying a contract voids the agreement. However, the contracts are notoriously hard to damage. You can't just thrown them in a fire or tear them up." She hesitated and said, "Your contract is written on your skin. I imagine that, even when you are injured, the writing is not harmed, yes?"

Pariah thought for a moment. "I'm not sure," she said. "I've never looked."

"I'm certain that is the case." She paused again. "I mean I do have an idea but it's rather...disturbing. You may not want to hear this."

Pariah was puzzled. "No, go ahead," she said.

"There have been cases of contracts written in skin on a living creature, though the words are usually carved into the flesh rather than printed on it. In all the cases I've seen, the creature is a third party, a damned soul that will be locked away to protect the contract. Such a contract could be destroyed, but only by destroying the body it's written on. In your case, something like that would kill you before the contract was fully annihilated, and you'd be sent to the Hells anyhow." She pursed her lips. "I do, possibly, have another idea."

"Oh?" asked Pariah, starting to regret encouraging Sylvira to voice her thoughts.

"Your skin could be flayed off your body with a magical blade. It would have to be removed in a single piece, since anything left behind would regenerate the contract. Then the skin could be destroyed in a number of magical ways. I'm reasonably sure that would break the contract, though it would be a very unpleasant process to endure and to heal from."

Pariah felt her flesh crawling at the image in her head. "Reasonably sure?" she asked.

Sylvira looked uncomfortable. "Infernal contracts are difficult to predict. Even after centuries of study, we don't know all of the rules that govern them. Although I believe such a procedure would work, I can't guarantee that it would."

"And my friends? Does that mean they'd die when the contract was broken?"

"No," said Sylvira, perking up. "That's a bit of good news. What I started to say before was that the contract is based on the two souls, but each soul is tied to different rewards. The priest's soul was tied to your friends. That deal is done. Destroying the contract won't kill your friends, nor will it restore the priest's soul.

"As for the other, your soul is tied to your power. That deal is completed when you die and your soul goes to Levistus. However, if the contract is broken before then, your soul will be saved but you will lose any powers, abilities or other gifts he has granted you."

"As long as I get my skin ripped off," Pariah said.

"Well, yes, unless we can find some other way of voiding the contract." She studied Pariah for a moment. "Did you want to attempt that method?"

"No," Pariah said emphatically. "Well, not now anyhow. If we still have a chance to save Elturel, I might need my magic. Farima, are you still willing to go to Avernus if it means saving Elturel?"

"We don't know that it will," Farima cautioned. "Our sources are somewhat unreliable."

"Yeah, but if we can find a way to save the city?"

"Then, yes, I will go to Elturel."

"Good." She sighed. "I think Rowan and Lythienne probably won't come with us, though. Makes sense. What kind of a nut would go to the Nine Hells on purpose?" She meant the comment as a joke, but it came out in a bleak tone.

Pariah turned to Sylvira and said, "What about you? You obviously have some powerful magic, plus a knowledge of the Lower Planes that could be useful to us."

Sylvira's eyes widened. "Not a chance," she said emphatically. "Look, I'm sorry for the people of Elturel, but that knowledge you speak of is exactly why I won't go. I know what to expect. I'm a scholar, not a warrior. When it comes to infernal studies, I prefer the laboratory to the field."

Pariah was disappointed. "All right, but do you know of others? I mean the world is full of powerful people. Surely some of them want to help save a city."

Sylvira hemmed and hawed. "The thing about those people is they are in demand and difficult to reach. At any given time, there are many crises happening in the world. And, to be blunt, they didn't become powerful by gambling their lives on ventures with low chances of success. It will be difficult to find anyone willing to take this risk. Even if I find those who would be willing to help, it could be months before they are available."

Pariah turned to Farima. "I'm not sure I want to wait months. Even if Elturel itself is safe for that long, its probably awful for the people there."

"I agree," Farima said. She added, "I'm unsure if we can count on Ryland. Although I am certain his commitment to the city is strong, he has faced many difficult revelations of late. He may not be emotionally ready."

"We might try asking around here. Some powerful people probably visit the place." Pariah looked thoughtful. "I wonder if Little One has completely given up his violent ways."

Farima looked confused. "Who?"

Pariah remembered that she hadn't been at The Hearth during that conversation, nor had the ogre been present when the group had dined there since. "Long story. An ogre who got some magic item that made him smart, and he's a good guy now. Me and Lythienne met him in The Hearth." Farima looked even more confused.

"I'll still put out some feelers to my own contacts," said Sylvira. "See if I can scare anyone up."

"We are on day two of our ten day stay," Pariah said. "I think we should go when the tenday is up."

Farima nodded. "Unless we get word that someone is coming to join us, I agree."

"That assumes we can find a way to save the city," observed Sylvira.

"No!" said Farima sharply.

"Excuse me?" asked Sylvira.

Farima shook her head. "Not you." She pointed to the shield. "Him. He says if we take him to Avernus, he can assist us. I see no reason to take his help."

Sylvira looked thoughtful. "A guide to Avernus could be useful," she said, almost to herself.

"No," said Farima again.

Sylvira shook her head. "No, not him. I mean I might have an idea about a guide." She looked frustrated. "Let me add that to my list of things I need to get done in the next few days. I might know of someone who is familiar with the plane. I don't want to say more until I've talked to her."

"Jezebel?" Pariah guessed.

"No," Sylvira said with a little laugh. "First, she's a demon, not a devil. She wouldn't know Avernus any more than you would. Second, she's my familiar so needs to stay close to me. But I may know of someone." She turned to Farima and said, "Someone you would approve of."

Farima looked puzzled. "That's a mysterious statement."

"I suppose it is," she said playfully. Changing the subject she said to Pariah, "But for now, I think we should finish your interview. I would like to know everything you can tell me about your interactions with Levistus." She turned to the quasit. "Jezebel, go find Falaster and bring him back here. Quickly!"

"Come, go, fetch," the fiend grumbled as it scurried towards the door that Sylvira was opening. "Boring. No fun."

"Let's get started," said Sylvira as she closed the door behind Jezebel.

* * *

Pariah gave a silent nod to the monk who had guided them through the keep, and then walked through the Emerald Door back out to the courtyard outside. She inhaled the evening air deeply and let it out. "I would never have imagined that just talking could be so tiring."

"The woman is thorough," Farima replied, approval in her voice. "She does seem to know her subject quite well. I am cautiously optimistic that she will be able to figure out some way for us to unravel this situation and save the people of Elturel."

They walked across the courtyard in silence, headed for The Hearth. They hadn't stopped for lunch and Pariah was famished. She assumed Farima was as well. She was lost in thought and slowed to a stop as they neared the entrance. It was evening and, from the sound coming out the door, the place was quite busy.

Farima took a few steps before realizing her companion had stopped walking. She turned. "Pariah?" she asked.

Pariah was looking at the building before her without seeing it. "What if she can't?" she asked.

"Who? Can't what?" asked Farima in confusion.

"Sylvira. What if she can't figure out how to save Elturel?"

Farima paused. "I do not know. We can only hope that she can find a solution."

"But what if she can't?" she asked again. She met Farima's eyes. "He said we can save the city if we do what he says."

Farima's face grew dark as she realized who Pariah was talking about. "He does not care for the people in Elturel. We have no reason to trust him."

"True, but don't the devils work against each other? Maybe he just wants to mess up what Zariel is doing."

"Or he might be tricking us into transferring the souls to him instead." Pariah could hear her voice hardening.

"Maybe," she admitted. "But we go along like we have been. We listen to him, we follow his path, but _we_ make the decisions. I mean look at what Zariel did with Ryland. Sure, she got him to make some mistakes, but he hit his limit and he stopped. If Levistus tells us to pull some magic bullshit that he claims will save the city, I'm not going to believe him. But he's not saying that. He's just saying we need to go to the city, and it makes sense that, if it can be saved, it has to be saved from there. Right?"

Farima looked unsatisfied. "The devils trick mortals. They misdirect and confuse. I've never been comfortable following his path."

"Believe it or not, neither have I," Pariah assured her. Farima gave her a skeptical look. "I mean it," Pariah said. "So far it's worked out, but I'm always worried that we are somehow making things worse. But I don't see any other way. I look back and I don't regret the things we've done. We saved people in the sewers and in the villa. We stopped the cults, and that's going to keep some people from getting killed. We've done some good."

"Yes," Farima said grudgingly.

"I'm not saying we should trust him to save Elturel. I'm saying we should trust him to screw over Zariel, because that seems to be his game."

Farima frowned. "What is your point?"

"My point," Pariah said, taking a breath, "is that if Sylvira can't find a way to save Elturel, I still want to go there. Maybe I'm an idiot. Maybe I'm just playing into his hands, but I have to take that chance if it means we can save them. I just want to know if you would consider going with me."

Farima chewed on that thought for a while. "I...am unsure," she admitted. "It is a lot to risk for no certainty of success."

"I know," Pariah said. "I'm just saying think about it."

Farima continued to study her. "I do not understand why you would be willing to make such a sacrifice for a city of strangers."

Pariah was a little offended that the answer was not obvious to her. "I've said it before. They need help, and I'm in a position to help. Besides, I'm not really sacrificing much. I don't have much here, and I guess I'm ending up there in the long run anyhow."

That last thought seemed to trouble the other woman. Hesitantly she said, "Do you plan to tell the others that other detail about your contract?"

Her tone was not accusing, just curious. Pariah hadn't thought about what she was going to do. After a moment she said, "I'm not sure. It really wasn't supposed to be a secret. I just didn't think it was important."

"Of course it's important," Farima said in irritation. "You constantly undervalue your life and your worth. Your soul may have tarnish, but it is not evil. You certainly do not deserve an eternity of suffering. We must find a way to break your contract as well."

Pariah couldn't help but bark a laugh. "Oh, so now we are going to break contracts with _two_ archdevils. What will we do with the rest of the tenday?"

Farima looked annoyed for a moment, and then her expression softened. With a hint of humor she said, "Well, if we have a day or two to spare, perhaps we should resolve the Blood War." Pariah laughed again and the two women headed into The Hearth.

The place was packed, as it tended to be at mealtimes. She spotted Rowan at a table engaged in conversation with the two humans sitting across from her: a pudgy man and a woman with white hair pulled back in a ponytail. Lythienne was standing in a corner with a pale, blonde high elf woman. The women were leaning in to each other, partially to be heard over the din, but Pariah also detected a flirtiness to their body language. She was disappointed to see that Little One's massive chair was empty and he was nowhere to be seen. She also didn't see Ryland in the crowd.

"I'll fetch us some stew," Farima said, raising her voice a bit. "Why don't you get drinks. Water for me."

Pariah thought about it. "No stew for me," she said. "I think I'll order food at the bar."

Farima nodded and headed towards the communal pot. Pariah headed to the bar and caught the attention of the man behind it. "One ale and one water," she said. She started to ask what was on the menu but realized she could read the board behind him. She felt herself grinning as she scanned down the selections. "And a plate of mutton and carrots," she added.

"Five silvers," he said as he grabbed a mug and turned to fill it from the barrel behind him. She put the coins on the bar, waited for the ale and water, and then turned to the rest of the room. She made her way over to Rowan's table where Farima had taken a seat next to her, and the two humans were already scooting over to make room for Pariah.

She set down the drinks and squeezed in on the end of the bench. The benches could fit two comfortably but three in a pinch. "And this is Pariah," Rowan said. "These are Rolf from Waterdeep and Eva from Amn."

Pariah and the strangers exchanged greetings. "So how was it?" Rowan asked. Her face was flushed and her eyes were a little unfocused. Pariah gathered she'd been drinking for a while already. There was also an air of gloom around her.

Pariah blew out a breath. "Long," she said. "And detailed." She didn't want to say much in front of the strangers, so settled for raising her mug in a toast and saying, "But here's hoping she found out something that can help us." She took a drink. After she lowered her cup she said, "What about you? I heard you asking about your arm."

Rowan brightened a bit. "Falaster took me to an artificer." She glanced down at the stump of her left arm. "He said he can make a prosthetic that will use both mechanics and magic. A good one would take a month, but he says he can fashion a passable item in the tenday we are here. It will move and everything."

"Amazing," Pariah said. "That's wonderful." Rowan gave her a distracted smile but then sunk into her misery again.

"Um, so, um, what brings you to, um, Candlekeep?" the man asked Pariah, struggling with his speech.

She thought about the question and then said, "I'm hoping to do some research related to the disappearance of Elturel."

"Oh, um, yes," he said. "That, um, was so terrible. Are you, um, from there?"

She shook her head. "Baldur's Gate."

"I see, um, so what, um, are you hoping to find out?"

"I'm not sure. I suppose just trying to figure out what happened and if anything can be done about it." It was a subject she didn't want to pursue so she quickly added, "What about you? What are you here for?"

A smile spread across his face and he regaled her with a long tale, punctuated by many "ums", of Undermountain, some kind of multi-level complex below the city of Waterdeep. During his tale, her food came: a wooden plate with a slab of steaming mutton, a pile of sliced and overcooked carrots, and a hard-crusted roll.

She listened to his story with interest at first. She had heard rumors of Undermountain, and occasionally some impoverished member of the Outer City would swear he was going to go to Undermountain and get rich. Of course, none of them ever did, and the following week the story would be replaced with some other "get rich" pipe dream. Rolf was apparently interested specifically in the dwarves who used to inhabit the complex before some wizard kicked them out, or something like that. Unfortunately, he was a poor speaker and Pariah found his rambling narrative hard to follow.

After he was finished, Eva explained that she was there to study the geology of West Faerûn, though she was somewhat cryptic about her reason why. She had that same "get rich" gleam in her eye that the dreamers who spoke of the Undermountain had, so Pariah assumed it was some scheme to find gold or gems or some other rare resource.

Pariah asked them both a bit about their backgrounds to see if they were adventurers, but Rolf was a scholar and Eva was a merchant.

Lythienne eventually wandered towards the door to the courtyard with the elven woman, smiling a greeting at the others as she passed their table. Not much later, the exhaustion of the day hit Pariah, along with the effect of a full belly and a pint of ale. "I think I'm going to turn in early," she said as she slid off the bench and stood.

The others said their good nights to her, Rowan's speech noticeably slurred by this point. Pariah hesitated, sensing a sadness about the woman, but was too tired to deal with it at the moment. She headed towards her room and the beckoning of the narrow bunk bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One common complaint I read about any of the D&D modules is "Why aren't the high-level NPCs handling it rather than these low-level nobodies?" I tried to address that, and I think what Sylvira said is probably a realistic view. A world with powerful heroes also has terrible catastrophes, and those heroes are going to be pretty busy. Sometimes the best you can do is whoever happens to be in the area.
> 
> Recently, aaron_mag recommended this fic on his wonderful [Out of the Abyss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611089%22) fic. I've been thoroughly enjoying his work, but more importantly he's a big part of why I even started posting this story. I was writing it at the time but hadn't started posting. I was getting a bit demoralized because the story wasn't coming along as I wanted (ugh, Dungeon of the Dead Three) and I was seriously considering abandoning the project. I idly commented on his fic that I was working on an Avernus story and he said he was looking forward to reading it. That small bit of interest really lit a fire under me, reignited my enthusiasm and I got back to writing. After getting past that terribly boring dungeon, it's been pretty smooth sailing.


	22. A Sudden Tantrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **They search for ways to neutralize  
>  The scheme of Zariel.  
>  Tempers flare and jeopardize  
>  The fate of Elturel.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

The monk stopped at Sylvira's lab and gestured towards the door. He was silent as they all were, but Pariah felt it was a heavier silence, weighed down with judgment. She told herself she was probably imagining that, and she followed the others in the group through the door.

Inside, Sylvira was walking back and forth, her fists clenched at her sides. Falaster was nowhere to be seen, and Jezebel was crouched on top of one of the bookshelves, cautiously watching the pacing tiefling. As the group came in, Lythienne said, "Good morning."

Sylvira didn't answer, just glared at them and continued pacing. The five of them exchanged confused glances. Well, four of them were confused. Pariah had a sneaking suspicion she knew what this sudden summons was about, suspicions that were confirmed as Sylvira stopped pacing in front of her. Glaring down at Pariah from her few inches of additional height, Sylvira said slowly through gritted teeth, "You...threw...a book?"

Farima gasped loudly and Rowan said in horror, "You did what?"

Pariah felt herself blushing as she looked at the rest of the group. She hadn't told them what had happened the previous day, their third full day in the keep. She had been spending all the time she could in one of the reading rooms trying to absorb as much knowledge of the fiends and their contracts as she could. When her study session had been called short after the incident, she had told the others it had been because she had been tired and needed a break.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said in embarrassment. "I just got mad. None of it made sense. I know it was stupid. I'll pay for any damage I did."

Sylvira laughed sharply. "Pay for it, she says. Do you have any idea how much some of these books cost? A damaged book that has to be recopied could cost thousands of gold in time and effort."

Pariah was stunned. "Thousands?" she asked as her stomach dropped.

"And that assumes the text can be recovered. If the text is actually obscured or erased in some way, punishments range from cutting off hands to blinding to immolation!"

Pariah was confused. "Immo...mo...what?"

Sylvira's eyes narrowed. "Death by burning," she grated.

"Over a book?" Pariah asked, her nervousness turning into fear. "That's crazy. It's just a book."

"Just a book?" The comment seemed to make Sylvira even angrier. "These are some of the rarest and most valuable volumes in the world. Many of them are worth far more than the lives of everyone in this room. None of them are _just a book._ " Her tone was dripping with contempt.

"I'm sorry," Pariah said weakly.

Sylvira took a breath and visibly tried to calm herself. "Luckily," she said, "you only scratched the cover a bit. The damage is cosmetic." Pariah breathed a sigh of relief, and then Sylvira said, "However, you have been banned from access to any books in the Great Library."

"What? For how long?"

"Permanently."

"That's not fair!" she said.

"It is eminently fair!" Sylvira bellowed at her. "It's the very definition of fair! Being at Candlekeep is a tremendous privilege, a privilege you abused." Addressing the group, she said, "You should all consider yourself lucky. The Avowed wanted to banish all of you from the keep. Only by calling in many favors was I able to convince them to let you stay. The rest of you will still be allowed access to the reading rooms and limited access to the areas beyond the Emerald Door, but you are being watched very closely." To Pariah she said, "You, however, are not allowed anywhere but the areas around the Court of Air and escorted visits to my laboratory. If you do anything that the Avowed do not like, you _will_ be exiled from the keep grounds."

Pariah felt overwhelming despair. This incredible gift she had negotiated for was now worthless. She knew it was foolish to think she could solve either her own situation or the problem of Elturel in a few days of study, but she had genuinely hoped she would be able to find something in the library that would be of help.

Lythienne asked Pariah gently, "What happened?"

Pariah felt shame again. At the very moment of her tantrum, she had instantly regretted it. She hadn't even realized she was going to do something until the book was already sailing across the room to smash into the wall and fall to the tiled floor. Palpable disdain, and the barest hint of threat, had dripped from the monk in the study room as he had coldly informed her that she was to leave the tower immediately.

"It didn't make sense," she mumbled. "None of it made sense."

"Did he take the power back?" asked Rowan.

Pariah shook her head. "No. I could read the words but they didn't make sense. I mean they made sense, but they didn't...make sense." In frustration, she said, "Gods, I don't know how to explain it."

She put her palms on the side of her head, her fingers wrapped around her horns, trying to hold the thoughts in. Even now she felt the confusion tearing into her mind. "I mean, I'd read the words. Even if they weren't in Common, they translated to Common in my head. Except that doesn't mean I understood them." To Sylvira, she said, "Like that word you just said. Immo-something."

"Immolation," Sylvira said frostily.

"Yeah. I mean I guess that's Common, but I don't know what it means. I've never heard it. That's what it was like. I can read the words but that doesn't mean I understand them."

She lowered her hands. "And it's more. Some of the books they are...well...it's like coming into the middle of a story. You don't know what happened, or who anyone is, or why this guy is mad at that guy, and it makes it hard to follow the plot. Some books need other books, but those books need other books, and none of it makes sense unless you know all the other books."

She shook her head. "And even when I understood, I'd forget. I'd read a page, but then I'd read another page and I'd have to go back to the first one to remember what it said." She snorted. "And I only asked to be able to read. I still can't write, so I can't make notes about what I find." Her frustration swelled and her voice grew louder. "I can read but I'm still just Outer City filth, too stupid to understand anything."

To her surprise, it was Farima who commented. "You are not stupid," she chided gently. "You are just ignorant."

Pariah looked at her and said scornfully, "Sounds like a fancy word for 'stupid'."

Farima gave her a tiny smile. "It's not," she said in a kind tone. "Studying is a skill like any other. You have to learn how to learn."

Pariah made a frustrated noise. "That's the kind of talking in circles the books do!"

"I do not mean to be confusing. It is like..." Farima thought for a bit. "It's like a sword. You could hand me the rapier you use, and I could swing it about and stab people with it, but I wouldn't be any good with it. I would need to learn, just as you did. In the time we have been together even I, with no martial skill, can see you have become better with your blade, more skilled, more sure. So this request of yours, it is like you asked for access to an armory full of weapons but don't know how to use any of them. That does not make the armory worthless. It just means you have to learn how to use those weapons."

"And how am I supposed to do that?" she asked, frustration making her tone sharp.

"I could teach you."

Pariah looked at her suspiciously. "Why?"

Farima looked surprised at the question. "I enjoy teaching. I am always glad to help others to learn, especially to give them the tools to learn on their own." She studied Pariah thoughtfully. "You could have asked him for anything: for riches, for power, for land, for adoration. The fates of empires have hung on negotiations with archdevils. And yet you asked him for knowledge. Not just knowledge, but a tool to give you access to everything known. That is a tremendously _smart_ thing for anyone to do."

Pariah was skeptical of her offer. Farima continued, "I can teach you how to analyze the things you read, how to see more than just the words. I can not only teach you how to write, but how to outline and organize the information so it is easier to remember."

Pariah considered her words and said, "Well, it doesn't really help now if I can't get access to the library."

Farima frowned, but not at Pariah. She turned to Sylvira. "Is there any way to get her privileges restored? If I accompany her at all times and take responsibility for her actions?"

"Yeah," said Rowan. "We all would vouch for her." Lythienne nodded. Ryland was, as usual, silent.

"No," said Sylvira sternly. Then, in a slightly softer tone, she said, "However there are books other than those in the Great Library. Smaller, less scholarly tomes are sold to visitors and to the nearby cities. And those might be...more appropriate to her level of understanding."

"Meaning?" Pariah asked, her temper flaring.

"Meaning," Sylvira said firmly, "appropriate to someone in the early stages of learning." She added, "They aren't children's books. They are valuable references, but they are aimed at a more general audience. They would provide good foundation for later study."

"That seems like an appropriate choice," said Farima to Pariah.

"You are becoming quite the scholar," Rowan observed. "Learning Elvish, learning to write, reading about infernals."

Pariah shrugged, embarrassed. "I guess," she mumbled. "I still feel stupid."

"That's one of the ironic aspects of education," said Lythienne. "You don't realize how much there is out there until you start to learn about it. The more you learn, the less you know."

"Well, I already don't know an awful lot," said Pariah, "so I'm halfway there."

The women shared a polite chuckle, other than Sylvira who was clearly still angry. The moment was interrupted when Ryland asked loudly, "What about Elturel? What have you learned?"

It took Sylvira a moment to change her focus to a new subject. "Unfortunately, I don't have any news yet."

"You don't know any way to stop her?" he asked sharply.

Sylvira raised her eyebrows at his outburst. "I know several ways to stop her," she said with a hint of irritation. "None of them practical options."

"Ryland," Lythienne chided gently, touching his arm.

He grimaced. "Sorry," he muttered. More calmly he asked, "What are the ways to stop her?"

"Killing her would void all of her contracts," Sylvira said dryly. "Killing an archdevil, however, is a distinctly non-trivial undertaking. According to my understanding of the current state of the Blood War, an army of demons is trying to do exactly that right now."

"Couldn't we get their help?" he asked.

Her eyebrows inched even higher. "Get their help? Demons?" she asked incredulously. "Dealing with devils is one thing. People occasionally survive the negotiations. Demons, however, are the embodiment of destruction and chaos. Negotiating with demons is rather like negotiating with an avalanche as it carries you down the side of a mountain. And, in the end, they'll just kill you anyhow."

"I don't care," he said. "As long as we can save the city."

"Be careful," she cautioned him. "Let me remind you that impulsive words already drew the attention of Zariel to you. Don't let that impulse draw you into a dangerous deal that isn't going to go the way you expect."

Ryland looked away and didn't reply. She continued, "And remember that this all started when Zariel, one of the angels, took the battle to Avernus and was overwhelmed. Zariel is not alone. She has her own army of devils." She sighed. "And the reason the celestials won't get involved in situations like this is because of the Blood War. The fact is, the Blood War keeps the demons in check. Killing Zariel could tilt the war in favor of the demons. If they managed to overwhelm the Nine Hells, then nothing would stop them from annihilating the rest of the planes, including this one. Many of the good-aligned creatures would feel the same."

"So they would stand by and sacrifice an entire city," he said in disgust.

"To save all the planes, yes," she replied matter-of-factly. Before he could say anything, she continued. "So killing Zariel isn't a realistic option. Another choice is to destroy the contract."

"Then let's do that," Ryland said. "We have the contract. Can't we just melt it down or something?"

She shook her head. "No. We have a copy of the contract. The original is in Zariel's possession, or at least in a place she considers safe. Devils almost always keep the original in a safe place." She looked at Pariah. "That's why your case is so interesting. As near as I can tell," she nodded at Pariah's body, "that is the original. However, it's created in such a way that destroying it would probably kill you before the contract was voided, thus damning your soul anyhow. It's really quite ingenious."

"And by 'ingenious'," Lythienne observed, "you mean 'quite terrible'."

Sylvira looked surprised and then gave Pariah a guilty glance. "Yes. Sorry. Quite terrible, yes." She shook herself back to the current situation. "Stealing the contract from Zariel is going to be as hard as killing her. You could summon her and negotiate for it, but you'd have to offer her something of greater value than Elturel."

"What's worth more than a city of souls?" Rowan wondered aloud.

"Two cities of souls?" Sylvira suggested. "I don't mean to sound sarcastic. That's the kind of deal some people will make: sacrifice two cities of strangers to save a city of friends."

"That's...horrible," Ryland said, eyes wide.

"Dealing with infernals usually is," she said.

"I have a rather troubling question," Lythienne said. She looked at Ryland and said, "I'm sorry, Ryland, but I have to ask this." To Sylvira, she said, " _Can_ Elturel be saved? If it's already been transported to Avernus, is there anything left to bring back?"

"Yes there is," said Sylvira emphatically. "I've spoken to one of my own contacts in Avernus." A shadow crossed her face and Pariah felt a wave of horror emanate off of her. "He says that Elturel is still intact...mostly...and that..." She spared a glance at Ryland before continuing. "...many of the people are still alive. However, the city is being drawn down into the River Styx, and once that happens, all will be lost."

"Then we must hurry!" exclaimed Ryland.

"Maybe," she cautioned. "The area below the city has become the center of rather a large invasion of demons, though it's unclear if that is because of Elturel or simple coincidence. And again, without a plan, without some realistic way of resolving this problem, I'm not sure what we can do."

"We have to do something!" he insisted. "What good are you if you can't help us?"

"Ryland," Lythienne said again, this time a bit more sharply. "That's enough."

He looked abashed. Sylvira's lips pursed, but she said, "It's fine. I appreciate the young man's distress. And I _am_ working on the problem." She rubbed her face and Pariah realized she looked very tired. "I suspect the Creed Resolute or the Companion are key to this, possibly both, but I'm not sure how." She shook her head. "I have so many avenues of investigation, and only a few more days."

She frowned and looked at Pariah. " _If_ , and that's a big if, I could arrange for access to certain less valuable books, could I ask you to help with the research?"

"Yes!" she said with excitement.

"Calm down, it's not a guarantee. They would be common books that aren't in the Great Library. Even that I'm not sure I can arrange." She frowned. "And if you can't write... Well, I'll have to interview you."

"I could assist her," Farima offered.

"No, I have other ideas for you. What's your background? You seem like some type of scholar to me."

"Something like that. I studied a lot back in Almraiven. My area of expertise is the celestials."

Sylvira nodded thoughtfully. "That could be useful. Let me get you a list of books I'd like you to review. If you could summarize some facts for me, that will help."

Farima suddenly looked introspective. "Very well. But perhaps tomorrow. I think I would like to spend the rest of the day in prayer." She shook her head. "Blast, I'm such a fool."

"What's wrong?" Rowan asked.

Farima hesitated, and then said, "Well, it's rather a long story, but I will be brief. When I was a child, I was blessed with some kind of celestial power. Since then, I have occasionally been visited by an angelic figure in my dreams." Ryland snorted but she ignored him and continued. "It happened again some months ago. As usual, his message was somewhat vague, but he said that my destiny would be found in Baldur's Gate. I have been frustrated by recent events, feeling they were diverting me from my path, but I now realize that this _is_ the path. So I would like to pray for guidance, see if any insight is sent my way."

Sylvira nodded. "All right, though the celestials have been reluctant to get involved. And," she gave a sidelong glance to Ryland, "of course, be careful. You never know who is really talking to you."

"Yes, I have considered that since we heard about Ryland's experience. However, this relationship goes back many years so I am confident that it is, in fact, a celestial who has been guiding me. So I will spend the rest of the day in meditation and prayer, and start on your research tasks tomorrow." She turned to Rowan. "Perhaps you could petition Tymora for assistance."

Pariah was surprised by the sour look on Rowan's face. "Yeah, I'll try," she said without enthusiasm.

"Ryland," Sylvira said, turning to him. "Why don't you stay behind? You must know some details about the history of Elturel over the last 50 years. You might be able to help me focus my research."

"All right," he said gratefully.

"I'm happy to help as well," said Lythienne, "though I'm not sure what I can do. My background is mostly entertainment, and I'm not sure how much help _A Song to Study By_ would be." She looked thoughtful. "Well, I _am_ a student of stories, and often truth can be found in supposedly fictional tales. If you could point me to appropriate legends, I might be able to help that way."

"Yes," Sylvira said thoughtfully. "I can think of a few ideas." She closed her eyes and blew out a tired breath. "I'll prepare lists of books for each of you, then. And questions I'm hoping to have answered. I'll send them to the House of Rest. We'll meet again in a couple of days and compare notes. For now, Ryland, you stay, the rest of you go and let me get started."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The grim punishments mentioned come from [An Introduction to Candlekeep](http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/ck_scroll.htm) by Ed Greenwood. Since he's the original creator of the Forgotten Realms, that seems like a pretty reliable source.
> 
> Another common complaint about this module is "Why would the PCs go to Avernus?" While motivation is what people generally mean when they ask that question, I struggled with the question of what they could accomplish. Going with the intent of facing down an archdevil is just absurd. Going with the idea of "we'll figure something out when we get there" isn't any better. Sure, for a _game_ I can see the players assuming there is a path, though that's still bad game design. However, for a _story_ it's more complicated. Justin Alexander put it this way in his remix:
>
>> The book so blithely presents this as the next thing that happens (it’s the name of the book!) that it might take you a moment to realize that the PCs have absolutely no reason to do this.
>> 
>> “But they’ve just learned that the city of Elturel has been transported to Hell!”
>> 
>> Uh huh. So what?
>> 
>> They’re 5th level PCs. They have no special resources or knowledge that puts them in a unique position to solve this problem and we’ve already established that Elturel is filled with high-level paladins, spellcasters, and others that obviously haven’t been able to solve the problem. In fact, since the PCs have no idea how to solve the problem, the solution could just as easily be found in Waterdeep or the Elturian crater or Iriaebor as in Avernus!
>> 
>> Frodo taking the One Ring to Mordor? Sure. He has a unique vector for destroying Sauron’s power that no one else in the world has.
>> 
>> Some random halfling without the One Ring heading to Mordor to “save the day”? It makes no sense. It’s suicide.
> 
> I came up with a decent idea, to be revealed in a future chapter, but it took a lot of thinking to get there. 


	23. A Drunken Rant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Progress slows, and hope it goes,  
>  Fleeing their pursuit.  
>  Emotion grows and liquor flows  
>  Despair starts to take root.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

Pariah was sitting in one of the upper bunks, her back against the wall and her legs hanging over the side, reading a book in the light of the lantern on the wall. She looked up when the door to the room opened. Lythienne poked her head in and said, "We are gathering in The Hearth for supper. Do you want to join us?"

Pariah suddenly realized she was hungry. Sylvira had sent over some books right as she had been thinking of going to The Hearth for lunch and she had dug into the volumes excitedly, forgetting about the meal. "Yeah," she said, folding down a corner of the page and dropping the book on the stack of books on the bed next to her. She dropped down from the top bunk, and then followed Lythienne down the hall, through the reception area and into The Hearth.

The place wasn't very crowded. "What time is it?" she asked, disoriented. She could see it was dark outside.

"It's well after sundown," said Lythienne. "It looks like we all got lost in our tasks today and forgot about the time, so we are dining a bit late tonight."

They joined Farima and Rowan at one of the tables. Farima was tucking into a bowl of stew. Rowan didn't have food in front of her, instead focusing in a mug of ale. From the flush of her cheeks and glassiness of her eyes, it clearly wasn't her first. Pariah glanced at the menu board on the wall. Behind the bar was a silver-skinned elf man with black hair and multiple ruby studs in his pointed ears. She struggled for a moment to remember his name, and then said, "Evening, Eirvin. Chicken and potatoes. And ale."

"The same for me," said Lythienne as she put some silver on the bar. "But wine rather than ale." The man nodded and started filling their drink orders.

"Well, I hope your days were better than mine," said Lythienne dispiritedly. "I still have a lot of reading in front of me, but I have so far been unable to find anything useful."

"I've found a little," Pariah said, "but probably nothing that she doesn't already know." Sylvira had been able to get some books to her, and they had been easier to follow than some of the ones she had tried to read in the Great Library. She was learning a lot about Elturel, but it was probably information Ryland could tell her. Pariah wondered if it was just busywork, but she slogged on anyhow, hoping to find some tidbit that could make a difference. "What about you two?" she asked Farima and Rowan. "What do the gods have to say?"

Farima put down her spoon and both women looked gloomy. As Rowan took another drink, Farima said, "We spent the day in the House of the Binder. The priests had no problem allowing us to pray to other gods, as long as we didn't pray to Cyric, Bane or Mask, who are enemies of the god Oghma."

She stopped as Eirvin brought their drinks. Rowan held out her empty mug and he took it to refill. As he walked away, Farima said, "I spent quite a bit of time praying to the angel I have seen in my dreams. I received no insight, though I didn't expect a direct answer. I have a slim hope he will visit my dreams tonight. Other than that, I spent most of the afternoon praying to Tyr for some kind of sign. In addition to being the god of my primary worship, he is also worshipped in Elturel alongside Torm, Amaunator, Lathander, and Helm. I had hoped they could give me some insight in how to save a city that revered them." Rowan snorted in derision.

Farima paused, looking at Rowan. When the other woman didn't speak, Farima said carefully, "I received no answer. Rowan and I spoke earlier, and her experience petitioning Tymora was similar."

Eirvin returned with another mug of ale. Rowan raised it in a mock toast and said bitterly, "Fortune favors the bold. In other words, fuck off and do it yourself."

There was an awkward silence, filled when Lythienne said, "Well, perhaps we shall have better luck tomorrow. There are many great minds here so here's hoping we can formulate a plan in the five days we have left."

"Well," said Pariah around a mouthful of food, "we do have one plan. Go find the survivors in the High Hall."

Farima and Lythienne looked at each other; Rowan just looked into her mug. "Yes," said Lythienne slowly, "but here is hoping we can find a more reliable source than an archdevil."

Pariah shrugged. "I don't trust him, but so far he's the only one who's suggested anything."

They ate in silence for a bit, and then Pariah said, "I guess we haven't really talked about that. The possibility that we might have to go there." She looked at Farima. "You still willing?"

Farima looked hesitant. "I agree I would like a source other than a fiend. But, if it is the only option, and there was a way to return, then I am willing to go."

"Lythienne?" Pariah asked.

The elf was studying her food intently. "I do not know," she said softly. "I am of two minds on this. On the one hand I feel that it might be what Evaelisar would want. In his letter, he said all of his actions since still hadn't atoned for what he had done on that dreadful day. He feared the judgment of the Lord of the Dead, feared for his soul. And now." She paused. "And now it seems that his soul may have been forfeit to Zariel anyhow." With difficulty she said, "If that is true, then I know I should try to save him, but...I am afraid. I saw what that horrific place did to him. I do not know if I am strong enough to fare better."

Pariah reached out and squeezed her hand. "We'll get through it together. You aren't alone."

"Neither was he. And yet the malevolence of the place broke him. Broke many of them."

Pariah said, "You take your time to figure it out. Nobody is going to judge you for your decision." To Farima she said pointedly, "Right?"

"Of course," Farima agreed.

Pariah turned to the last member of their party. "Rowan, what about you?"

She didn't look up. "I don't know either," she said, her speech slurred. Pariah waited but she didn't say anything more.

Sensing the need to move on, Pariah said, "I've asked around a bit. Little One," she nodded at his empty chair, "was sympathetic but has given up fighting. He is going to talk to Sylvira about aiding her research. Everybody else I've talked to is a scholar or something. Not the adventuring type."

Farima nodded gloomily. "The head priest at the House of the Binder mentioned that one of the frequent visitors to the temple was a powerful wizard. I spoke to him and he seemed interested, at least until I mentioned our actual destination. He called me mad and left."

Pariah said, "I've also tried to reach...him." She tapped her head. "Hoping he would tell me more about his plans. He won't say anything."

The group descended into a heavy silence. Pariah was lost in thought and it took her a moment to realize that someone was standing next to the table on the other side of Lythienne. She looked up to see Ryland wearing an expression of shame, with a bowl of stew in his hands. "Can I join you?" he asked the group hesitantly.

They looked at each other, and then Lythienne said, "Of course, Ryland." She scooted over towards Pariah to make room for him and Pariah shifted over as well. He sat, put the bowl and spoon on the table in front of him, and then folded his hands into his lap.

"I want to apologize about...well...everything. Even before what happened on the road. I guess I've made a lot of mistakes since the first day I met all of you. I was aggressive and closed minded, while you were just trying to help the people of your city. And now you are helping mine. And then the things I did on the trip were..." He broke off and had trouble speaking.

Lythienne patted him on the back. "Ryland, it's okay. I think we all understand what you were going through." She turned to the rest of the group and said, "Right?" in a tone that was polite but at the same time strongly discouraged opposition to her words. They all mumbled agreement.

"Your fervor was understandable," Farima said. "You were apprehensive about the fate of not only your city, but your friends and family. I think a certain amount of misbehavior that came out of enthusiasm can be forgiven."

"We talked about this even before we knew what was going on," Pariah added. "You’ve been through a lot in the last few weeks, more than any of us. And you stopped before you crossed a line when you wouldn't poison the stew pot. That, I think, is what's important. You didn't lose yourself."

He looked up at them, a hint of a hopeful smile on his face. "Thank you. I'll do better in the future. I would still like to travel with you if I could."

"Of course," Pariah said in surprise. "We just assumed you'd come with us if we have to go to Elturel."

"Absolutely!" he said enthusiastically. "Have you decided that's what we are going to do then?"

The gloom descended over the group again. "We are still unsure of the path forward," said Farima. "But know that we will do everything we can to save your city." She paused. "As Pariah pointed out earlier, her master suggested that going there is the first step to rescuing Elturel."

Pariah pursed her lips. "He's not my master," she said sharply.

A flash of annoyance crossed Farima's face, but then she said with reluctance, "Very well. I am unsure what to call him. I refuse to use his name." She went on quickly, "My point is, although he is an unreliable source, it is at least a possible path forward. Pariah and I are committed to going. The other two are still considering the proposition, and we are hoping to recruit more."

"I want to _do_ something," Ryland said as he started eating. "I'm tired of just sitting around."

"We still have five days," said Lythienne. "We want to gather as much information as we can. Surely as a Hellrider you know good intelligence is important before an attack."

"Yeah, I know," he said. "I'm just restless. It's all research now and I'm no good at that."

"You could train," suggested Pariah. "Go out the gate and I'd bet they'd give you your weapons back until you want to came back in."

"Yeah, I guess," he mumbled, then he looked slightly embarrassed. "Here I came to apologize for my mood, and I'm still being grumpy." The group chuckled at that and he relaxed.

They finished their dinner in polite conversation. The overall mood was still low, but they covered it with smiles and laughter when they could. Except for Rowan. She said little, downing ale after ale as the night wore on. Eventually the group broke up, Lythienne off to the bath house, Farima to the temple, and Ryland to bed. Rowan showed no sign of leaving so Pariah decided to stay and keep an eye on her.

She tried to engage Rowan in conversation but the woman wasn't interested in talking, responding with grunts and short sentences. Finally, as Rowan signaled for another drink, Pariah said, "Hold off on that, Eirvin."

Rowan looked annoyed. "I want another drink," she said.

"Later," Pariah replied. "Let's go for a walk."

"I don't want to walk. I want to drink."

"Humor me." When Rowan hesitated, Pariah added, "Please?"

Rowan blew out a long sigh. "Fine," she said in a huff. She stood, swaying in place and blinking in confusion. Pariah stood and moved next to her, taking her arm. "So I'm drunk," Rowan slurred. "So what?"

"So nothing," Pariah said, guiding her towards the door leading out. "Let's just get some air."

Rowan grunted but allowed herself to be led outside, leaning on Pariah for support. They exited into the night outside. The Court of Air wasn't well lit, the only light coming from magical lanterns set beside the doors to the buildings. Most of the courtyard was in darkness, though Pariah could see dimly with her black eyes.

She led Rowan around the edge of the courtyard, though it was challenging to keep in a straight line with how much the woman staggered. "So what do you want?" Rowan demanded thickly. "Are you going to lecture me about my drinking?"

"No. I just wanted to know if you were all right."

Rowan laughed bitterly. "All right? Have you been paying attention? None of us are all right. The world is literally being sucked into the Nine Hells. First Elturel. Then Baldur's Gate. Then probably Waterdeep and Neverwinter and Luskan and everywhere else." Her voice started to grow louder as she stopped and turned to confront Pariah. "And they don't care!" she said accusingly.

"Who?" Pariah asked, confused.

"Them!" Rowan barked, pointing at the sky. "They sit on their fat asses looking down at us, laughing at us as we scramble around trying to survive, and they sip their nectar or whatever the fuck they do up there and they do _nothing_! We pray to them. We get on our knees and beg them, and they do _nothing_!"

Rowan brought her hand up and grabbed her hair in frustration. "The people of Elturel worshipped them. They worshipped Torm and Lathander and all those, but they just stood by as the people died. Not only that, they did nothing for _fifty years_ while the people were cursed. Fifty years their souls were lost, and none of the gods bothered tapping a priest on the shoulder and saying, 'Hey, maybe you guys want to fix this.' No, they just ignore us. They take our worship and our gifts and our love and give us nothing." She put her face in Pariah's and demanded, "Why?"

Rowan dropped her hand to her side. Still aiming her anger in Pariah's direction, she said, "You know how many times I've told people 'Fortune favors the bold'? That's Tymora's thing, right? Fortune favors the bold. Do it yourself. I'm sorry you are starving, but fortune favors the bold. I'm sorry your daughter is dying of plague, but fortune favors the bold. I'm sorry that bandits stole all your stuff and burned your house down and murdered your family, but _fortune favors the fucking bold_! If your life sucks, it's your fault because you weren't _bold_. You weren't worthy of Tymora's attention because you didn't fix it yourself. Just stop being poor! Just stop being sick! Just stop being dead! Just stop being a victim! Because fuck knows the gods won't help. You said it the first time we met: my bitch goddess just lets it happen." Rowan took a breath and then shouted at her, "I should have been safe in my own temple!"

Rowan turned away and started to sob. Pariah was stunned, not having expected the sudden change in direction in her tirade. She struggled to think of something to say, and in the end simply reached out and folded Rowan into her arms. Rowan turned and put her arm around Pariah, pressing her face against her hair. Pariah felt hot tears against her ear as Rowan whimpered, "Why didn't she protect me?"

Pariah held her as she cried loudly. After many long minutes, her sobs dwindled and stopped, and Pariah continued to hold her. Eventually, Rowan said dully, "I'm tired."

"Okay," Pariah said. She pulled back, keeping one arm around the other woman as they started to walk towards the House of Rest. Rowan leaned in against her but still had trouble walking a straight line. They staggered their way to the door and down the hall to their room. She helped Rowan fall into her bunk and then sat on the floor beside her, holding her hand until she fell asleep.

* * *

Pariah skimmed the page in front of her, reading yet another story of the battle against the vampire lord and the sudden appearance of the Companion in the sky. There was no new information here, and considering how much it differed from the other accounts she had read, she was skeptical of its accuracy. She heard a groan from the bunk below. "You alive?" she asked. The response was another groan.

She sat up and put the book face down on the bed before slipping off. As her boots hit the floor, she heard a louder groan. She reached over to the cup of water by the basin and said, "Here. Drink this."

Rowan sat up in the lower bunk at looked at the cup bleary eyed. She reached out for it and drank it down greedily. When she was done she handed it back and looked around in confusion. "What time is it?" she asked.

"About mid-morning," said Pariah.

Rowan smacked her lips with a disgusted look on her face. "Yuck. I guess I had a little too much last night. I-" She suddenly broke off and her eyes widened. She inhaled sharply and looked at Pariah in horror. "Oh gods," she said. "Gods, gods, gods." She buried her face in her hands. "No, no, no. Gods, I can't believe I said all that."

Pariah chuckled and sat down on the bed next to her. "Ah, the guilty morning after face," she teased.

Rowan looked at her. "No, not funny. Oh, what I said. Oh, Kelemvor, take me now."

Pariah put an arm around her. "I'm sure it's fine," she said. "I figure the gods already know what we are thinking. Saying it out loud doesn't change that."

Rowan reached up to grip the coin around her neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she muttered. "Oh I can't believe I said all that."

Pariah opened her mouth to tease her again but could see she was really upset, so instead she said, "Rowan, I'm sure it's fine."

Rowan slipped off the bed and dropped to her knees. With her eyes squeezed tight, she said, "Lady Tymora, please forgive my sacrilege. Forgive my momentary weakness in my faith. I beg you to show me your mercy...by taking this terrible headache away." She drew in a sudden breath and let it out slowly.

Rowan turned to look at Pariah, who was still sitting on the bunk. "Well, my head feels better. I guess means she doesn't hate me."

"Of course she doesn't," Pariah said. "And, I mean, you weren't wrong in what you said."

Rowan shushed her, looking around guiltily. "You're going to get me in more trouble," she hissed.

Pariah knelt down the floor next to her and pulled her into a tight hug. "Everything's all right. I promise." After a bit she said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Rowan said emphatically. "I've already said too much. I think I need to spend the day in prayer and penance."

Pariah pulled back to look at her. "I don't just mean your feelings about Tymora. I mean, well, how you feel about what the priest did. I guess you have a lot of stuff built up inside."

Rowan grunted. "Don't you?" She shrugged. "We never talked about it. I mean I don't know what we'd say. It sucked. We killed him. It still sucks but at least he's dead." She paused and then said with difficulty, "I have mixed feelings about what you did to him at the end. The priest in me knows it was blasphemy. The woman in me hopes he suffers for eternity." She winced. "Dammit, my mouth is going to get me into more trouble."

"I'm not really happy with what I did either," Pariah said. "But it's done." A thought occurred to her. "You think he's there? I mean, if we go there, do you think it's possible we might run into him? Not that I want to, but..."

Rowan shook her head. "No. He went to Levistus, who's the ruler of Stygia. Different level of the Hells."

"Oh."

Rowan studied her and then looked away. She sat down on the stone floor and said. "How do you feel about what happened to us? I mean you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. It's just this awful thing that we four have in common and we've never talked about it."

Pariah sat down on the floor as well. "I don't know," she said. "I kind of figured I deserved it."

Rowan looked up at her with horror in her eyes. "What? No, don't ever say that. Nobody deserves that."

Pariah shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I mean you three didn't, but don't forget why I was there. Honestly, at first, I thought Tymora was punishing me for trying to kill one of her priests. And not just kill him but...well...you know. Was what he did any worse than what I was going to do?" She leaned back on her arms and looked up at the ceiling. "And then later when we found out what he was, and that he wasn't even a priest of hers, it still felt like a punishment, just from Bane rather than Tymora. It didn't really matter."

"It matters," Rowan emphasized. "You didn't deserve that, no matter what you were there to do."

"I guess," she said dismissively. "But it was worse for you. You hadn't done anything wrong and you had to be there all the time. I assume...it happened more than once."

Rowan folded her arms. "Yeah," she said.

"I'm sorry. And you were right: you should have been safe in your own temple. And she should have protected you." Pariah looked up and said. "You hear me, Tymora? You're a bitch for not keeping your priests safe!"

"Stop it," Rowan said, clearly offended.

"What's she going to do? Send me to the Hells?"

The joke went over poorly and merely made things awkward. Rowan said hesitantly, "Did...it ever happen to you before? I mean, I hear stories about what happens to women in the Outer City."

Pariah said, "No. I was lucky. I was a good enough thief that I never had to whore, good enough with a knife that I was able to keep guys off me, and fast enough to run when they were too much for me." She frowned. "But I was lucky. I knew women -- hells I knew _men_ \-- who were good in a fight who still got overwhelmed. I never got cornered by a gang of them. And we take care of our own. A guy who does that often ends up in the harbor tied to a rock or lying in an alley bleeding from his crotch. But if you don't have a crew..." She shook her head.

Wanting a change in subject, Pariah said, "Come on. Let's get some food in you."

"No," Rowan said. "I think I'm going to fast today. Part of my penance." She looked thoughtful. "And maybe I'll go talk to the head priest in the House of the Binder. I'm sure I'm not the first priest to feel this way. Maybe he's got some advice." She looked at Pariah. "I really do believe in Tymora's good works. I just have some mixed feelings right now. I guess I had more resentment than I thought."

"Walk you to the temple?"

Rowan smiled. "Yeah, that would be nice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rowan's scene has roots back to the first chapter. I thought about how each of them reacted to what happened to them at the hands of the priest, and I knew it would hit Rowan the hardest. I tried to show her crisis of faith subtly, knowing it would eventually lead to this. That doesn't mean it's over, of course.
> 
> After I wrote this chapter, I read [Giffyglyph's Darker Dungeons](http://giffyglyph.com/darkerdungeons/), which is a free download of homebrew rules. I am adding his rules for Active Inventory, Help, Success at a Cost, Making a Journey, Light & Shadow (but not the part where light spells requires concentration) and Survival Conditions. I'm tweaking Survival Conditions so that Overwhelming Heat doesn't cause automatic Exhaustion; instead it gives +1 Thirst and +1 Fatigue per day. It will also be difficult to get undisturbed sleep in Hell, so Fatigue may prove to be an issue over the long run. I'm considering having an area where Dangerous Magic rules exist. Finally, I'm not going to go back and rewrite the Dead Three chapters based on the new lighting rules, but moving forward Pariah and Lythienne have only Low Light Vision rather than full Darkvision.
> 
> I'm also trying to figure out my own systems for Sanity and Lingering Injuries that works for narrative purposes. I've sort of used Lingering Injuries already, when it took Lythienne several days to recover from that one wound. That was a Level 1 Wound in my system, which gives -1 to appropriate rolls (e.g. a mild sprain). Level 2 gives disadvantage (e.g. a broken arm), and Level 3 gives permanent disability (e.g. "A scratch? Your arm's off!"). There is also Level 0, which is narrative only, no game effect. However, I haven't fully figured out the mechanics behind it yet. I'm making things up as I go. As always, story supersedes rules, even rules I create myself. I merely like having rules as a framework to keep me from making characters over- or under-powered.


	24. A Dubious Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
> **Great minds peruse the vast library  
>  To solve the evil plot.  
>  Despite an effort legendary,  
>  It all has come to naught.  
>  **
> 
> * * *

"But if a man has truly repented," Little One rumbled, "is it just to punish him for past crimes? If he has truly changed his ways, become a compassionate and generous individual, does it make sense to imprison him for actions taken when he was a different person? Can a truly civilized society..." He trailed off. "Must you keep doing that?"

Pariah looked up in surprise. "Sorry," she laughed. She was standing on the balls of her feet, bouncing up and down gently to feel the flexibility of her leather soles. She settled back onto her heels. "New boots. They are the most comfortable thing I've ever felt in my life."

The ogre grinned. "Understandable." He waved to his own enormous leather shoes. "It was not until I came here that I wore anything on my feet. Arch support is a truly miraculous invention."

She looked thoughtful. "But about what you said, I guess I see your point. If someone has become a good person, then punishing them is just cruel."

"Ah," he said, "but is it just to allow a crime to go unpunished? Should someone be allowed to evade penalty merely by being sorry? What if a man murdered someone dear to you. Even if you knew the man had repented and changed his ways, would you be satisfied? Or would you expect retribution?"

Pariah looked puzzled. "Whose side are you on?"

Little One chuckled deeply. "Neither. The true scholar endeavors to see both sides of a debate, to appreciate different points of view." He looked more serious. "I am biased in this matter, but even I am torn. I have done terrible things. I am changed, and wouldn't harm even an insect now, but that does not excuse the crimes of my past. If I was brought to trial for the murder of the halfling, am I not guilty? Does his family not deserve the justice of my punishment, even my execution?"

Pariah leaned back against the wall and folded her arms. "Well, punishing you doesn't bring him back. And it doesn't stop you from doing it again because you've already decided not to do it again."

"And so I ask again, if I had murdered someone you loved, would you be so compassionate?" His eyes twinkled as he said, "Be honest."

Reluctantly she said, "I don't know."

"I do my best to atone," he said. "I try to harm no living creature." He looked troubled. "I have even attempted a vegetarian diet so that no animal would be harmed by my existence, but alas, I have discovered that ogre physiology cannot be sustained without animal protein. I try to limit my intake of meat to the minimum necessary, but my body is that of a carnivore and needs flesh to live." He looked off into the distance. "I have heard of magical items called ioun stones. Apparently there is a stone that allows one to survive without food. I hope to find something like that one day so I can live without causing the death of any living creature. Until then, all I can do is offer my thanks to the spirit of the creature for its sacrifice."

"I'll keep an eye out," she said. "Maybe I'll stumble across one in my travels."

His mood darkened and he looked at her gravely. "You leave soon," he said.

She nodded. "We have to leave the keep day after tomorrow. I'm still not sure what the plan is. We meet with Sylvira in the morning to see if she has figured anything out."

"Alas, I have been no help in my research."

Pariah sighed. "Yeah, me too. But thanks for trying."

"And you still intend to go to Avernus despite lack of a clear objective?"

She nodded. "I don't see any other choice. I'm not happy following his plan, but unless Sylvira comes up with something, at least it's a chance." She had told Little One some, though not all, of her situation with Levistus. He had been surprisingly accepting, though visibly saddened by it.

"I feel these words fall short," he said, "but be careful."

"I'll do my best."

The door to the outside open and Pariah looked up to see the others coming into The Hearth. Little One said, "Ah, I see the place is filling up for dinner. In that case, I will retire to my quarters."

"No, stay," Pariah said. "Eat with us."

He smiled but said, "Thank you, but I shall have to decline. I am a bit self-conscious about eating and I prefer to dine in private."

Little One rose, towering above her, and gingerly made his way to the outer door, saying his good nights to people as he passed. There were a few expressions of horror from those who were surprised by the ogre in their midst, but Pariah had heard that most people liked him once they got past their initial reactions.

Pariah joined the others as they ordered their food and drinks. She glanced over at Rowan, who had been in better spirits since her outburst three nights previous. She had told Pariah that her day of penance and her talk with the priest had helped a little. He hadn't had the same experience but, as Rowan had said, those doubts were not uncommon among the clergy and countless books had been written on the subject. He had given her the titles of a few. She was still troubled, but a bit more at peace with her relationship with Tymora and the gods in general than she had been before.

Ryland was also in a good mood. He had been wary of the others after his apology, but the group had been welcoming and slowly he had relaxed. As with Rowan, Pariah could sense some conflict underneath the surface, but less than before. Regardless of the truths he had faced, he was still fiercely loyal to the people of Elturel and hoped to be able to save them.

Dinner passed in a comforting cloud of happy conversation. It was a façade, beneath which was the shadow of the grim knowledge they all shared: they might not be able to save Elturel. Despite that, they all relaxed in the brief mirage of good food and good company. After the meal, Pariah, Farima and Ryland went out to stroll around the courtyard. They walked in silence for a while until Ryland said hesitantly, "Pariah, may I ask you a personal question?"

"Sure," the tiefling said.

"Farima...well...Farima told me some more about your contract. About the fact you sacrificed your soul."

"Did she?" Pariah said, raising her eyebrows at the other woman.

"My apologies," Farima said self-consciously. "I briefly forgot that he did not already know. I am not very good at keeping secrets. I have been told I am too honest for my own good." She pursed her lips before adding, "Many times."

Pariah was slightly annoyed. She had told Rowan and Lythienne that aspect of her contract, but hadn't planned to tell Ryland. However, she realized it probably would have gotten out eventually as they traveled together. "So what's your question?" she asked Ryland.

"Well, how could you do that? How could you make such a sacrifice? Was it for the power?"

Pariah thought for a moment. "Ryland, if a devil came to you right now and said he'd free Elturel from the Hells, from the Creed Resolute, if you gave up your soul, would you?"

"Their souls would be completely free? For all time?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I mean I'd like to think I would. It seems better that one soul suffer rather than thousands." With more fervor he said, "Yes. Yes, I would."

"And what if he said he would save only half of Elturel? Or only one person in four? Or one person in ten? Would you still do it? What if it were only a dozen souls? You said it's better for one to suffer than many, but what if that one was you? And what if it wasn't their souls, but merely their lives. Their souls would be judged and go where they are supposed to, but they would be gone." Before he could speak, she added, "And would it change your answer if they were your closest friends and family?"

They walked in silence for a while as he considered the question. "I guess I'm not sure. I mean maybe? I'd have to think about it."

"And what if you didn't have time to think about it? What if you had to make the decision in a heartbeat?" She stopped and pulled him to face her. She barked, "Now! Decide now or they all die!"

He stammered and she relented, saying, "And that was the decision I had to make. That fast."

They resumed walking. "I guess I understand a little better," he said.

"That is what he does," Farima said. Pariah turned to her, a question on her face. Farima continued. "I have been reading about your..." She searched for a word. "...acquaintance," she finished weakly. "That is a common tactic he uses. He finds people at the moment of their greatest need, their greatest vulnerability, and tempts them not with power but with salvation."

Pariah was surprised. "You read about him?"

"Yes," Farima said reluctantly. "I, too, am trying to understand the decision you made. It seems...I mean no disrespect, but it seems short-sighted. However, I understand that you didn't have time to weigh all your options, to consider the pros and cons of the decision. Which, again, is what he relies on."

"You think I made a mistake saving my crew," Pariah said, irritation in her voice.

Farima made indecisive noises and then said, "Not exactly. That is my point. Whether or not a logical evaluation of your decision reveals its value is not relevant. You had to decide in that moment. You had to weigh their fates against yours and decide on instinct."

"And you think my instinct was wrong?"

Farima seemed frustrated. "No. I am not making myself clear." She put her hands behind her back and continued. "I have been thinking about souls and their value. We are going into the home of the devils, where they are their strongest, and I have been thinking about temptation. Any of us may be offered a contract like yours. Any of us may be asked to weigh our souls against our desires. And I wondered how much I valued my own soul, what I would be willing to exchange it for."

Pariah felt horror rising up from within her. "Are you saying you are thinking of making a contract?"

"No," Farima said firmly. "Quite the opposite. I am trying to be prepared for the temptations I might face, so I can reject them. I do not want to make the same..." She hesitated. "...decision that you did."

Pariah suspected that by 'decision' she meant 'mistake' but let it go. "And what would you sell your soul for?" she asked, partially to needle her but partially because she was curious.

They walked in silence again until Farima said softly, "You once shared a very personal story of your past with us. I would like to do the same."

She took a breath and then began. "When I was a child, I shared a room with my younger sister, Tika. I awoke one night to see the room was aflame. Tika's bed was empty and I thought I heard her voice in the hallway so I assumed she had already fled. I made my way through the smoke and flame. I woke the rest of my family and we evacuated as the fire spread with unnatural speed. It was the first time my magical power manifested. I was able to summon water out of the air to clear the flames out of our path."

Farima unfolded her hands and crossed her arms. "We got outside and only then realized that Tika was not with us. Then...we heard her screams. She was still inside, but by now the house was an inferno. My father rushed in and managed only a few steps inside before he was overwhelmed. Neighbors managed to get him out but he was badly burned. They tried to quench the flames that consumed our house but the fire was too fierce."

Her voice started to shake as she said, "Tika screamed for a very long time and we could do nothing to help her. Finally she stopped and we settled in to wait for the fire to die." She wiped her eyes and said, "That night I also discovered my touch could heal. I was able to aid my father, who probably would have died otherwise. Later, when the fire was out, they brought out Tika's body. I tried to revive her but could not."

She drew a shuddering breath and let it out. "The point to my story is this. If a devil appeared to me now and said he could revive my sister, I would refuse. I have had time to accept her loss and resolve my feelings. He would have no hold on me."

Farima turned to Pariah and said, "But if he had come to me in that moment, the moment of her screaming, I would have given anything to save her. Anything. Now, I was a child, so I would not fully appreciated the consequence of such a decision, but I think of my father and I have no doubt that he would have done the same. He would have sacrificed his soul to save his daughter in that moment, but only in that moment of grief and misery, when the mind is not thinking clearly.

"And that is what we must be on guard against. They offer us our deepest desire, not just what we want in life, but what we want in that moment. And the price is never, ever worth it. I am deeply distressed that my sister had to die so horribly, but the sacrifice of a soul, the payment of eternal servitude and torment, is far too great a payment to prevent such a tragedy. I do not mean it to sound like judgment of your decision." Lightly she added, "I do not mean to lecture," and Pariah smiled. Farima continued, "I am saying merely that we each must decide now, when we have clear heads, what our souls are worth and know that they are worth far more than anything the devils could offer."

Pariah mulled that over. "Then I ask the same question of you I asked Ryland. If a devil offered to free all the souls in Elturel in return for your own, would you agree?"

The question gave Farima pause. "I do not believe a devil would offer such an unbalanced trade."

"I don't know. I've been reading about contracts. Souls are not all the same. A soul given freely, especially the soul of a good being, is worth far more than souls taken against their will. Your pure soul might be worth more than all the souls in Elturel."

Farima turned and gave her a puzzled look. "If that was a compliment, it was the strangest I have ever heard."

Pariah laughed. "Well, that wasn't exactly what I meant, but you get my point."

"Yes, and I believe you are correct." She frowned. "And I do not know if I would make such a sacrifice or not. I would not trust the devil to make good on his word. That is to say, I believe he would live up to the letter of our agreement, but in such a way that would prevent Elturel from actually being saved. They often twist words to mean what they want them to."

They continued walking in silence until Pariah grumbled, "Devils suck."

"Well, yes," Farima said awkwardly. "That is a succinct but accurate description."

* * *

"So, in summary," Sylvira said, "that very long explanation boils down to one thing: I don't know what to do."

The group had gathered in Sylvira's lab the following morning. She was sitting on the edge of one of her tables. Her hair was in disarray, and her face was haggard with dark smudges under her eyes.

"However, I do have one idea. I need more information. I am certain that the Companion and the Creed Resolute, the book itself, are keys to this contract. It is possible that examining them will give me the information I need to have a chance of foiling the contract. And that is where you all come in."

"You are coming with us to Elturel?" asked Farima.

"Gods, no," she said with passion. "But I do know someone who will. Traxigor is a wizard who lives in a tower about twenty miles from here. He is willing to take your group to Elturel, cast the spells necessary to gather information from those two items, and to bring you back. He commands powerful magic, but he is a scholar not a combat mage, so you would go along to guard him from any threats."

She stopped to yawn loudly. When she was done, she said, "And there is someone else. He has a...friend named Lulu who will also accompany you. She has some experience with Avernus and would be an effective guide."

Pariah frowned. "You are hiding something about her," she said.

Sylvira laughed weakly. "Yes, but nothing bad. Traxigor wanted it to be a surprise. Oh do shut up!"

The last order was not barked at the visitors, but rather at the golden shield. It still stood leaning against one wall, as it had when they first brought it to her, but was now surrounded by a shimmering field that was rooted in an arcane circle drawn on the floor around it. Sylvira sighed and pointed at the shield. "Ladies and gentleman, meet Gargauth, a pit fiend and servant of Asmodeus. He was sent here to corrupt mortals and at one time had a massive number of worshippers. He was basically a demigod." She smirked at the shield. "My, how the mighty have fallen!

"I don't know how he ended up in the shield, but it has been in the possession of the Hhune family for years. That may be why one of them was imprisoned in the villa. The Hhunes will probably try to get it back, and it would be very bad to let that happen. It needs to be removed from the presence of corruptible mortals. I have it sealed off as best I can, but even I have felt its power tugging at me. I know! I'm getting there!"

Again, that last comment was directed at the shield. "He keeps telling me that, if you take him to the Nine Hells, he'll be your servant. And, to be fair, as long as you are useful to him, he probably will be. I don't know what his agenda in the Hells is, other than perhaps to find a way back to his master. Then again, I would think Asmodeus would punish a failure like him quite severely, so who knows what he wants? The point is, he might be a valuable ally."

"No," said Farima firmly.

"Yeah, I'm with her," said Pariah and the others nodded agreement.

"Good choice," Sylvira said. "We will lock it in our transdimensional vault where its corrupting energies can be more effectively blocked. I'll be glad to have that nasty thing out of my lab." She looked over at her quasit. "Jezebel, bring me the map."

The small demon clambered up a shelf and pulled a scroll case out from a stack of others. It skittered over and handed it to Sylvira. She stood and pulled the cap off the end of the case, saying, "I have one resource that might help. This is the only map ever made of Avernus. I don't know how accurate it is. The cartographer went insane while making it."

Sylvira rolled the map out on one of the tables, pointedly looking away from it as she did. The group gathered around to examine the illustration. Pariah had trouble focusing on it, as though her eyes were refusing to look at it. The map was drawn in reds and yellows, and was a crude depiction of a stark landscape with a jagged river of red slashing across it. Drawings of buildings, trees and creatures littered the map seemingly at random.

Pariah tried to take it in but it seemed to shift even as she looked at it. She could see a red lake with a tower sticking out of it, a bridge across a green sea, a volcano next to a pool of black with a tentacled creature swimming in it, and a massive dragon skull in a corner.

She finally had to tear her eyes away. Pariah looked over to see that Lythienne and Ryland had also looked away from the map. Farima was still examining it, her teeth clenched tightly, as was Rowan, who was tense but didn't seem to be as badly affected as the others. Rowan said, "Nothing is labeled."

"Correct," said Sylvira. "And nobody knows what those symbols represent. And nobody knows if Avernus even looks like this anymore. Or if it ever did."

"Helpful," Pariah said with a hint of sarcasm.

Sylvira shrugged. "It is still the only map of Avernus that exists. Attempts to copy it have always failed, often with the person making the attempt suffering temporary madness. The map has a faint magical aura but I can't determine what that magic is."

"Better than nothing, I suppose," Farima said in disappointment, finally looking away from it.

Sylvira started to roll the map up. "So the plan is you all travel to Traxigor's tower tomorrow and accompany him to Elturel. While you are doing that, I will continue my work here, as well as keep trying to find others to aid you. For all I know, multiple trips to the Hells might be needed, and I'm not sure it's the kind of place you want to visit more than once."

Sylvira looked them over as she slipped the map back in its case. "I know it's not the plan we had hoped for, but it's a step in the right direction. This is critical information Traxigor will be gathering, and he is going to need you to protect him. So, are you willing to go?"

"I am," Ryland said emphatically.

"Me too," said Pariah.

"As am I," said Farima.

They turned to the other two. Rowan looked indecisive but then sighed dramatically. "Fine! I'll go," she said.

Pariah grinned widely and reached out to squeeze her shoulder. She had been pretty certain Rowan was going to back out, and she was thrilled she was going to come along.

All eyes were on Lythienne. "I do not know," she said with difficulty. "I still need to think."

"Come on," Pariah teased. "Think of the stories you will be able to tell. People will come from miles to hear you talk about your time in the Nine Hells."

Lythienne smiled sadly at her. "While that is an appealing thought, I still need some time to consider."

"Of course," Rowan said.

"Seriously, though," Pariah said. "You've been a huge help so far. We'd all understand if you prefer to stay behind." Farima and Ryland nodded agreement.

"I will have an answer by morning," she said.

"All right," Pariah said. "We should pack tonight. We're getting kicked out tomorrow anyhow." She turned to Sylvira and said, "If you'll give us directions to the tower, we'll ride out in the morning."

Sylvira gave her a mischievous grin. "Oh, this isn't the kind of place you get to by horse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This module is full of "Here's a cool character...aaaand he's gone" like Little One. Nice backstory, and yet ultimately just filler. However, I like what I did with him, and he will have a long-term influence on Pariah.
> 
> As some of you already know, the story of Farima's sister is told in more detail in [A Deadly Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26903905)
> 
> I've previously recommended aaron_mag's "Out of the Abyss" fic; I'll admit the ioun stone idea came from a scene in his story. I'd like to recommend a different "Out of the Abyss" fic called [Bright Future](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140773) by captainecchi. It's a collection of stories from the campaign she is playing in and presents a wonderful example of how players can choose very different solutions to the challenges of a module.
> 
> I won't be posting next week. I've hit a tricky spot in the story and my writing has slowed down. That means I don't have as much lead time as I'd like between where I'm writing and where I'm posting. I still plan to post weekly _most_ of the time, but I will occasionally skip a week if the gap narrows. I'm hoping it won't be all that often. So the next chapter will be posted Friday, March 19.


End file.
